Three Rings for the Elven Kings
by Gwedhiel0117
Summary: *canonical gap-filler* A meeting has been called, certain lords summoned, and to be kept wholly secret. But Celeborn waits late in the night for his young, beautiful and entirely un-courted daughter to return from her walk with Elrond, but is quickly running out of patience.*full summary inside*
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **A meeting has been called, certain lords summoned, and to be kept wholly secret. But Celeborn waits late in the night for his young, beautiful and entirely un-courted daughter to return from her walk with Elrond, but is quickly running out of patience. Meanwhile, Celeborn has been one of the summoned to attend this meeting in order to make a possibly fate-altering decision with the High King.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing of Tolkien's world. I wish I did, but it all belongs to the Tolkien Estate. I also do not own the uploaded "book cover" for this particular story. It is owned by Alan Lee. If this is ill-suited for any purpose for anyone, I will gladly take it down; all you need to do is ask. But please inform me so before rudely going to delete my story without warning. Thank you.

**A/N:** As told in the summary, this story is a canonical gap-filler, and was also partially written as a belated gift for **Tori of Lorien** and **Zammy**. It is also a companion piece to another gap-filler of mine, titled "A Crucial Decision". But that multi-chaptered story is not one you need to read in order to comprehend this one, for "Three Rings for the Elven Kings" actually takes place before the other. As said, it is only a companion piece, not a continuation. I know the summary was a bit elusive, but what exact gap in Tolkien's tale that this story will be telling I will not speak of yet, for you will all too quickly find out, if you know not already. But I hope you find some enjoyment out of reading it and would appreciate any words you feel inclined to voice. Happy reading!

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"[The Eldar] had few children, but these were very dear to them." ~ J.R.R. Tolkien, _The History of Middle-earth: Morgoth's Ring_

**Chapter 1**

_Lindon, 1701 SA_

A muscle briefly clenched in Celeborn's jaw, the only sign of his quickly diminishing patience. He pivoted on his heel and paced, with his slow, leisurely steps, to the edge of the hearth of the dimly lit room, uncaring if such an action was thought to be unbecoming. His arms were crossed, and though his breaths came steady and deep, they could hardly be accounted as calm. His booted heels were scarce to be heard on the carpeted floorboards, and his full attire he had yet to change from trapped the excess heat against his skin.

Celeborn turned about, his silver hair glistening as starlight under the soft glow emanating from the fireplace, and paced back towards the window. Where was she? His daughter had been bidden to return ere the watchmen on the wall were changed, and the Moon had ascended high in the sky some time ago. The window before him, elegant and of Elven intricacy in all of its making, was coated with a sheen layer of frost, its glass icy to touch. Winter's season had departed, leaving only cold nights as a reminder of its chill.

He reached the window and turned back, sparing a brief heartbeat to glance at his wife as he did. Galadriel, arrayed in her nightly attire, sat in a cushioned chair near the hearth, her golden hair loose from its braids and brushed till it gleamed. So intent was she on the task of working her needle with fluent fingers that she failed to take notice of his sharp regard, though it lasted but a moment. She had refused the suggestion to retire towards their bed, she had told him, for she would remain awake so long as their daughter had yet to return.

Celeborn directed a dark glare towards the receiving door. He wanted Celebrían to return to his family's designated quarters. He had not seen his daughter in seven years and had only recently been reunited with his silver-queen. The war was over, Celeborn reminded himself once more, digging nails into his palms in effort to remain alert. Though Eregion had been massacred and nigh on all of Eriador lain to waste, the war was over and she was safe. Both Galadriel and she were safe, and there was nothing more his heart could have sought after. Though seven years could be accounted as of little significance to an Elf, those seven years had been felt by Celeborn keenly, for Time had seemed to go without end, the long defeat and victory at a heavy price working to test his strength. But it was all over. Sauron and all his cruelty had been forced to retreat to his dark lands of Mordor, and the war had finally ended. His precious daughter was well and unharmed, for he had held her in his tight embrace when first he saw her again in Imladris two months ago.

He turned to pace to the window. He _needed_ Celebrían to return to his family's designated quarters. The High King had requested his presence this night and Celeborn's agitated pacing was born as much as from the urge to be on his way as from his impatience to wait for Celebrían to return from her walk with Elrond. Though why Gil-galad had summoned him in the dead of the night, of all times, was beyond his understanding. But attend this meeting he would, so long as his daughter would return home! Why so long a time? That Elrond had better be equipped with an exceptional excuse for not working to escort his Celebrían home at a decent hour.

"Oh my dear, sweet, irritable husband. End your pacing!"

The half amused, half exasperated words from his wife drew Celeborn up short and he halted in a brief moment to regard her. He pierced Galadriel with a glare worthy of the greatest of Elf-lords, but kept his silence. She returned his gaze steadily, the equal power beheld in both sets of eyes fearsome to behold. And her hands had stilled, with needle, thread and cloth briefly forgotten. Nor did Galadriel speak any further words, for her attempt to jest with her husband had been in error and both knew so. Between the two, the air still swarmed with a tension unfounded, thick and sizzling hot as white flame. And the bitterness of the words they had recently exchanged these past weeks had not yet been forgotten, though the refusal to do so lay at the fault of the stubbornness found in both of them.

But then she let go a weary sigh, for she was tired, and lowered her gaze from his as she took up her needlework once more. "She will return soon, my love, for I shall not sleep ere she comes, as I offered. You need not be delayed by this wait to answer the High King."

But alas, her silver-tree merely turned and kept on with his pacing. His eyes, keen and penetrating enough to give even the greatest Elf thought for pause, clouded over in irritation and growing impatience. "She is with Elrond," he murmured, as though such explained everything.

A hint of a smile touched Galadriel's mouth, though she was sure to keep her eyes on her work. And she spoke with the voice of one who had held such a conversation many a time prior already. "She is."

Celeborn turned from the hearth. "For hours she has walked with him."

"She has."

"She has yet to return."

"She will."

"She is too young."

"She is not," Galadriel reasoned with no sting or admonishment in her words. "She came of age decades ago."

"So?"

She could not withhold the smile then, nor conceal the twinkle of merriment in her eyes. And, briefly setting aside the anger and frustration she currently felt with him, she lifted her eyes and regarded Celeborn in half amusement and half adoration as he sought to run a furrow in the floor he walked. "Celeborn," she stressed in exasperation, though she could not keep the grin from her face, "go to Gil-galad. You may question our daughter on her delay on the morrow. This is not worth keeping the High King waiting."

Celeborn sighed as he finally ended his repetitive meandering and went to lean on the wood frame of the window. And he looked out into the dark night as his eyes lost some of their bright intensity under whatever private thought occupied his mind. "Every day of all those years I feared for her," he murmured, his voice dwarfed with hints of the heart-pounding anxiety he had felt for his child's wellbeing that only a parent could feel. "Through our bond I knew she lived, but not until you came to Imladris did I stop fearing."

Galadriel's gaze sobered at that, and her eyes equally softened as she looked upon the Prince of Doriath. "For husband and father, our fear was just as great amid our travels, if not greater, for you fought on the front battlements of the war, just as we were fleeing from it. But now she is safe, as am I. You need not seek out her presence as reassurance any longer."

"But she is with Elrond."

Galadriel rolled her eyes as the tolerant smile returned. But ere further words could leave from her mouth, the sound of metal on metal broke the silence as the door opened to emit the very person they had been discussing. At the sound, Celeborn turned about and straightened, his arms crossed once more as he looked upon their daughter as she went to unwrap her shawl from her shoulders.

But Celeborn refused to give her any moment. "Where have you been?" His tone of voice was not so demanding at it was probing.

Celebrían looked up at the words, her eyes shining bright in question, ere standing tall and straight as one conceived by a noble lord and lady only would. Her silver hair fell about her shoulders, lightly tousled from the constant wind outside. And she sent an apologetic look towards her father.

"I apologize, Ada, for my being late," she spoke, her voice soft and undaunted by Celeborn's scrutiny. But in her eyes it was seen she meant the apology. "Lord Elrond sought to escort me home at a decent hour, but he was waylaid by some Númenórean healers seeking his expertise. I went with him, eager myself to learn, but such lasted longer than either of us anticipated."

A moment of silence passed as Celeborn merely looked at her, and no thought could be read upon his face, though a muscle again jumped along his chiseled jaw. Though what that meant, none could decipher. But he did not smile. "He would not walk you to the door?"

A flicker of uncertainty was seen briefly in Celebrían's eyes as she shook her head, for she knew not how to interpret her father's rather lack of amiability this night. "No," she spoke carefully. "He intended to, but an aide of the High King intercepted us and delivered to him a message from Gil-galad, one speaking to attend a meeting this night. He bid me a fair evening in the gardens and left, lest he be late."

Celeborn could feel Galadriel's meaningful gaze on him, but he would not look at her and instead forced back another wave of weariness. "Did the two of you have a pleasant walk?"

The brightness of the resultant smile was enough to light the room. "We did," Celebrían answered, glancing down at her clasped fingers, a smitten shyness lighting her eyes. "Lord Elrond is wonderful, and I was honored and grateful to spend this time with him."

"H'm. Did he kiss you?"

Celebrían gasped and looked at her father, wide-eyed, in something akin to horror, as her jaw dropped by a fraction. "Ada, no!" she nearly shouted.

"Hold hands?"

The shock grew. "Ada! Of course not! Stop this!"

"Good."

With that, Celeborn approached the door, sparing neither of them a glance, and briefly kissed Celebrían on her forehead ere departing the room in silence. And Celebrían simply turned to watch him go, too visibly aghast to question to where he went and simply gestured with an open hand towards the door that had been shut.

"Nana!" she demanded, her voice liberally coated in disbelief. "What…what-?"

Galadriel finally let loose the smile she could no longer contain and had to work to suppress the laughter she felt stir deep in her chest at the walking display of horror and embarrassment that her daughter now epitomized. And she shook her head, the smile growing, as she worked the needle through the fabric and back again. "Become used to it, my daughter," she solemnly advised, ill-disguised amusement in her voice. "He loves you beyond anything in this world, and your father will put every suitor through the fire ere granting them his permission to court you."

If anything, these words prompted Celebrían to be even more flustered, and she plopped down helplessly on the footstool. "But Elrond has given no hint of interest in courting me." And Galadriel chuckled at the despairing frustration in her voice. Celebrían sent a dark glower at her and sighed, despondent. "Besides, I thought it was that Father had no ill thought for Elrond, and that he was fond of him. Why has he such anger towards him now?"

Galadriel smiled at the dejection that could only be found in one so young that was smitten with love. No, Elrond had given no sign of interest in their daughter, she inwardly thought, but he needed not to. Upon Galadriel and Celebrían being reunited with husband and father, after all those torturous years, in the Hidden Valley two months ago, it had then been followed by the introduction to Celebrían of the High King and then of Lord Elrond. And during their short time spent in Imladris, both Celeborn and Galadriel had been capable of seeing the love Elrond held for their daughter, though he spoke naught of it. And even upon traveling to Lindon sometime later, both could still perceive that his love had not abated. But there was no reason to inform Celebrían of all this, Galadriel chose. Though no longer an Elf-child, Celebrían still delighted in the world about her as in the ways Elf-children would, and the burden of memory was still light upon her, unlike Elrond, who had seen much in his younger years. The lessons she had yet to learn would further enable her to appreciate Elrond for who he was, as many others already did. But no, Galadriel would speak nothing concerning this possibly budding relationship between Celebrían and Gil-galad's herald. She knew Celebrían was worried that her growing love for Elrond might not be returned, but…the journey of discovering it was one of the joys of finding one's life mate.

Instead, Galadriel spoke on the second half of Celebrían's few words, and she sighed as she put a few more stitches to align the soft fabrics. "No, my sweet. Your father bears no ill will for Elrond. And though he never speaks of it, I see in your father the love and pride he has for him. Your father bestowed Elrond with his blessing of love and aid of a kinsman, should he ever need it, when he came of age, and declared Elrond of his House." She raised an eyebrow at Celebrían's distraught figure. "Such a public avowal could never be professed falsely."

Celebrían threw up her hands in exasperation. "Then why was Ada so angry with us? He looked ready to tear Elrond limb from limb for keeping me away so late."

The chuckle that wished to emerge at such an exaggerated observation was quelled and the merriment in her eyes faded as Galadriel stilled her fingers and leaned forward. "Your father is not annoyed with you," she reassured, her own eyes keeping those of her daughter's captive. "He was impatient due to his having to be elsewhere, but he is not angry with you as you imply. Any ire of his is for me."

Several heartbeats of silence followed as Celebrían lowered her gaze. "Have you and Father ill thought towards each other still?" The question was voiced tentatively, as though she were afraid to ask it.

Not having expected the question, Galadriel merely sighed and leaned back, casting her gaze down at her needlework, though she went not to continue her stitching. "Worry not over it, love," she came to answer at her daughter's questioning gaze. "Your father and I have fought before and will undoubtedly do so again. Our bitter thoughts will pass, as they always do."

Celebrían appeared to relax a little at the words and she flashed a rueful smile. "I trust so," she murmured. "And I never once believed you and Father were immune to it, but I am unaccustomed to hearing you two argue."

Galadriel felt a sense of wariness overcome her. "Heard you any exact words?"

Celebrían shook her head. "No, only muffled shouts and the resentment that has since hung between you."

Galadriel's eyes softened as she uplifted her daughter's chin with gentle fingers. And she smiled. "It will pass, have no fear of that. I would not be hemming and stitching him this cloak if things were not amendable."

Celebrían glanced down at the newly woven Elven-cloth and gave a wry grimace. Celeborn's last one had been in frightening disrepair upon their arrival in Imladris after the war had ended, and it had brought upon Celebrían dark foreboding of just what her father must have been through, so much so that she worked to place no thought upon it. But she was glad to see her mother's hands weaving him one newly made.

"What is your quarrel over?" she ventured to ask.

Galadriel shook her head as she once more picked up her sewing, dismissing the question. "Be not bothered over it. It is over nothing you need concern yourself about."

She shrugged. "Very well, then. To where did Father just leave for?"

Galadriel glanced at the door and gave a half shrug in return. "Gil-galad requested his presence for a meeting shortly being held. I suspect Elrond was summoned to attend the same, though I have no inkling of what this meeting is for."

Celebrían raised a skeptical eyebrow. "This late into the night?"

Galadriel nodded. "There must have been no preplanning, for Celeborn received word of it just when he was readying himself for slumber."

Celebrían grimaced, a sense of vague worry clouding her eyes. "Will he treat Elrond well when he sees him, do you suppose?"

Galadriel's smile lit the room as she now felt the same exasperation with her child. Apparently, both father and daughter alike were unable to keep their thoughts away from the High King's herald. It was really all too entertaining when thought about. "Stay your needless fretting, child, lest you drive me from this room."

"Well," Celebrían continued, as though rationalizing her thought, "there is no reason for him to be short of temper with Elrond. As I spoke, he has never given any sign of interest in me. And he has shown nothing but courtesy."

"Celebrían…."

She sighed, running her hand in agitation through her silver hair. "I would only that I could understand Elrond's heart more, to know of what his thoughts are towards me."

"The understanding of another being's heart comes with time. And Elrond is not one to reveal such personal thoughts openly," Galadriel spoke. "Be patient. You are very young still, and have only known Elrond for a couple of months. Even after friendship grew between your father and me, he waited decades ere deciding to court me. And then, after that, he would not permit our marriage until after _seven years_ of courtship. Be patient. As an Elf, you have the benefit of Time and Elrond will remain."

Celebrían sighed again, gnawing on her lower lip. "I know I am young, and I feel not great a lady enough as to be a match for Elrond. But what if he were to find someone else to love? What if –"

Galadriel halted her words with an upraised hand and looked to her daughter with grave eyes. "If you feel you must rush a relationship because you fear he will not wait for you, then he is not the Elf for you. And dismiss not that you may find someone else to love yourself." Though Galadriel personally doubted that, for as she saw the love in Elrond's heart, so she saw the same reflected in Celebrían's. "Have patience."

Celebrían looked long in silence at her mother ere nodding and bowing her head. But when she looked up again, a twinkle of mischief was in her eye. "Truly, had you to wait seven years to marry Father? Such seems unlike him."

Galadriel gave a fond smile at the dredging up of old memories, of good memories. "Yes, it does seem unlike him. And in that _deliberately_ slow courtship, _I_ was the one that was driven to madness from my impatience." Her slight smile grew at Celebrían's chuckle. "But those days were good, and made even more so by how long they lasted, and I would take back not one of them. Now, make for your bed, my daughter, for we must rise early to bid our farewell to the Númenóreans."

Celebrían nodded and stood to head for her room, but not before directing one more question towards her. "Believe you truly that Father will keep his peace?"

"Celebrían," Galadriel sighed, looking up into her daughter's uncertain gaze. And she could help not but to smile again. "This is one of the 'joys of fatherhood', as your father deems it. Trust me when I speak that you would do well to worry if it would be any Elf other than Elrond. Now go to sleep."

O = O = O

Celeborn strode down several darkened hallways as he made his way towards Gil-galad's study. The occasional guard stood at his post, his gaze cast dutifully forward. And the few torches in their brackets were being exchanged for fresh ones to last the night. Otherwise, the halls were empty of people and bore the silence that fell nocturnally over Lindon.

It was of little interest to Celeborn, however. His thoughts were solely occupied on his destination, of what council so imperative had been requested this late at night. The silver-haired Elf wracked his mind and memory for any circumstances that would demand such urgency, for he had received Gil-galad's request for attendance long after the laws of etiquette allowed it. All vital decisions had been already made before traveling to Lindon from the Hidden Valley, including the decision to abandon the empty lands of Eregion in favor for Imladris. And indeed, the walls of the newly found vassal of Lindon were being thrown up as the craft of an Elven city took place under the careful eye and regulation of Erestor, who had remained behind during Elrond's absence. Celeborn could now think of nothing that would call Gil-galad's immediate attention.

And even more baffling, Celeborn thought as he rounded another corner, was that Gil-galad had _specifically_ told him in his message to be sure that Galadriel did not accompany him to this late meeting. Galadriel's forbiddance had been the one thing he had not spoken of to his wife, for her displeasure was not something he had the patience to deal with this night. But Gil-galad's reasoning over this was something that remained greatly prominent in his line of questions, and one he looked forward to discovering.

But whatever it was, it could not be good, Celeborn surmised as he stepped before the double doors of the High King's study, resolutely disregarding the guards on either side. For if Gil-galad had such good information to share, he would not have gone to such lengths to see that this meeting remained unheard of. Undoubtedly, if what his daughter spoke was true, Elrond must have been summoned to the same. Celeborn inwardly gave a wry grin. Suffice it to say that he looked forward to speaking with Elrond this night.

But he took a deep breath and readied himself for whatever words Gil-galad might deliver ere reaching out and opening the door.

To be continued….

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Celeborn: the equivalent of "silver-tree", translation to be found in _The Silmarillion_'s Index of Names.  
Celebrían: the equivalent of "silver-queen", translation to also be found in _The Silmarillion_'s Index of Names. There is no date given for her birth, but I elected it to be approximately a century or so before the fall of Eregion. This presumption is based on nothing more than read theories.  
Ada/Nana: If you don't know what these mean in this Universe, you've got issues. :)

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**A/N:** Thank you for electing to read this story of mine. If there is anything you did not understand (either than what you were not meant to), please feel free to ask. In the next chapter, we find out just what gap-filler this is supposed to be (though it's not too hard to deduce), Celeborn has some private thoughts about Elrond, Celeborn learns why Galadriel was barred from this meeting, and Gil-galad proves to be one tired King. Thanks again for reading this chapter and I would appreciate it from the bottom of my heart if you would review. I welcome all words, so please do!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** For full disclaimer, see Chapter 1.

**A/N:** And now we have Chapter 2. I would like to give a special thanks to **Lia Whyteleafe** for her words that aided me with certain aspects in this chapter, as it helped a lot. And as ever, my tremendous gratitude is given to **Glory** **Bee**, **Certh**, **Lia** **Whyteleafe**, **Sadie** **Sil – English Stories**, and the **Guest** for reviewing. Thank you! And I can only hope that all reading will find some enjoyment out of Chapter 2!

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"In Middle-earth dwelt also Gil-galad the High King…." ~ J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Silmarillion_

**Chapter 2**

The initial thing Celeborn was struck by upon entering the room was how solemn an atmosphere the study of Gil-galad exhibited. And he hesitated for but a moment in his stride ere stepping fully across the threshold and closing shut the heavy door behind him, it sliding soundlessly on oiled hinges. And he merely stood there, suddenly wary to speak any words, and cast about his gaze.

Gil-galad was the first he laid sight on, and the High King stood before the dying hearth, leaning upon the mantle. His tall, lean frame was cast in warm silhouettes by the meager flames, and his modest robes risked catching fire from how closely they swayed to the embers. No circlet or crown was upon his brow and his long hair of dark hue was bound back by a single plait. But Celeborn was taken aback by how worn the King appeared to his eye, for his chiseled features were taut with stress, his ageless face suppressed by weariness, and his eyes looked to carry burdens beyond his time.

He must not have heard Celeborn enter, he surmised, for he continued to speak in hushed tones with Elrond, whom Celeborn was unsurprised to see. He, too, stood alongside the mantle, within an arm's distance from the King, but due to their close proximity Celeborn could decipher none of the words they exchanged. Elrond also looked unnaturally grave, and his eyes were solemn as he gave small nods to whatever it was Gil-galad was saying. However, Celeborn was surprised to see that Glorfindel was also present, and he stood only a step behind Lord Elrond, intent upon their quiet conversation.

Celeborn furrowed his brow as he regarded the Balrog-slayer, wondering for what reason Glorfindel had been personally asked to attend this meeting. Though the strength of his spirit visibly showed fathoms brighter than all in that room, the usual merriment upon his face was subdued in a way that sent shivers down his spine. He knew of Glorfindel's obsessive protection over Elrond, having witnessed it during their frenzied journey from Eregion to the Hidden Valley. But having sworn an oath to the Valar and Eärendil the Mariner to protect the Half-elven line, the golden-haired Elf was not an officiated advisor to the King, and Celeborn pondered on this: No counselors or members of the Court were present this night, so that must signify that no state matters of Lindon were to be discussed.

Elrond's presence Celeborn could understand, for he knew well that there were few Gil-galad trusted as implicitly as he did Elrond. Glorfindel, however, was not an Elf to be called upon at random for no reason.

Yet ere Celeborn could make his presence known, he was discouraged from stepping forward by a disturbance he felt deep within, something he felt to be the source of why this study was made so solemn. Though failing to mark it, he felt it deep inside his being, something he had felt before, a discord within the Song that all Elves were bound up in.

And he wondered at it, instinctively looking to the three other Elves. In Gil-galad, Celeborn could sense the strength and fire of the High King's fëa as it resounded with all the great enigmas of Ilúvatar's Song; a match for his predecessors and an epitome of Elf-kings. Elrond's spirit shone brightly as any Elf's, but the melody of his fëa was one Celeborn was unable to decrypt, for in his ancestry he was unique and walked a destiny known only by Eru, it seemed. Mastered in lore, his place in the Song was the shadow of the greatest of Kings. And Glorfindel….Well, he might as well _be_ the Song, so greatly did his fëa exude it. Seeing as the discord was not with them, Celeborn this time cast a keen eye more carefully about the study, looking to find that which spelled woe in his mind, that which he felt was not of Ennor.

And all too quickly for his liking, he found it. The study was dimly lit by only the fire and the few candles strewn about. The heavy draperies of the broad windows were closed tight, seeming to only emphasize the secrecy of this gathering. Books and scrolls rested upon tables, some opened and some closed, and maps of varying places and sizes lined the walls. The floor was made soft by thick carpets of Sea-elven make. And the King's broad desk in front of the grate was an organized mess, strewn with the work by parchment that came with the effective running of a kingdom. In short, nothing looked to be out of place.

Save for what Celeborn spied lying on the desk: two rings, so plain and modest in their appearance, rested side by side in the middle of the desk, in the one place where no parchment lay. And Celeborn felt a swell of disgust grow within him as he looked upon these rings, and his brow furrowed as his eyes hardened. Their bands were of the finest gold, as gold as Glorfindel's hair, and the precious metal reflected the glow of the low candlelight in a beautiful, quixotic way. But these two rings were not entirely alike, for one bore a great stone of blue and the other a great stone of red.

And Celeborn only shook his head, wondering why he had not foreseen this coming. "Oh," he voiced, an utter lack of surprise in his tone.

Gil-galad's head whipped around at the soft murmur, his words with Elrond ended, and Celeborn met the High King's blue eyes. They were keen and vigilant, qualities the King had ever carried with him. Behind the wisdom on his brow and intelligence of his eyes, it was therein seen the power and strength of his spirit that threw down and made fearful even the mightiest of foes. And in his aging eyes there was beheld the kingly venerability and commanding authority Gil-galad had so wisely wielded over all his people and armies. It was what won him Celeborn's respect, the deference of those many times his age. It was what won him the love and loyalty of his people, Man and Elf alike.

But now, slight surprise was veiled over in what looked as relief, and the King offered a meager smile as he nodded his head.

"Lord Celeborn," he spoke, his voice strong if a tad weary. He extended a hand as he straightened from the mantle. "Please, come forth and join us, and I am thankful for the time you sacrificed this night to do so."

Something was wrong, Celeborn thought as he approached the High King with slow steps. In his words Gil-galad was too formal, too tense as to be feeling comfortable. He looked and sounded to be anything but comfortable, Celeborn perceived, and he wondered at this, for never should the King have felt thus with him. The few nightcaps and strategic debates they had shared in time past had eradicated any tension once between them, for Gil-galad had been a prominent influence in simmering down some of his rather lack of fondness for the Noldorin race in general. And Gil-galad had never shown any compunction to maintain his kingly stature when sharing private company.

Celeborn bowed only his head in return; though the King knew well of Celeborn's respect for him, he also knew that Celeborn would never swear fealty to him.

"Your Majesty," he spoke. He looked to Elrond and Glorfindel and nodded again. "Lords Elrond and Glorfindel. Though I believe to know the answer, for the sake of courtesy, I will voice the question: Splendid though I find your company, why I must I bear it at this forsaken hour?"

Small smiles were offered from all three, but Gil-galad merely sighed and gestured to that on his desk. "By your gaze cast in disdain upon the Elven Rings on my desk, I so deduce you know already why you are here. And I ask your forgiveness, Celeborn, for placing on you so dark a subject at this late hour."

Celeborn shook his silver head as he approached closer, a sense of weary resignation laying itself upon his shoulders. And he too sighed, forcing down the ire that worked to rise. "It was only a measure of time ere our backs could no longer be turned on this, for anymore delay on this problem would be unwise. Yet, though I shall be glad to be quit of this matter, I fail to understand why my presence is needed."

Gil-galad's face fell as he leaned upon the back of his chair, and for him Celeborn felt a flash of sympathy; he looked so very worn and worried that it stirred the fatherly concern within his chest. "I seek your counsel," he came to speak, his eyes looking steadily into those of Celeborn's. "Two Elven Rings remain, and it must be decided to whom they will go. For this, I need all the trusted counsel I am able to receive, for this is a decision I cannot make lightly."

That indeed clarified why Elrond and Glorfindel were present, Celeborn thought. Elrond was deep in Gil-galad's counsel and was called upon often for his wisdom and knowledge, of both which he had an abundant supply. And Glorfindel….Well, any who would so refuse the counsel of Glorfindel was a fool, for his wisdom and insight went beyond that the Ages offered.

Celeborn crossed his arms and looked down upon the two Rings of Power for several long moments, allowing the foreboding silence to stretch. There they lay, looking all too simple and modest to behold, but Celeborn cast his sight deeply into their great stones, and in them he saw the power and might of Sauron's lust, the discord of the Song that should never have been.

And amidst the swelling tide of bitter resentment and burning rage, he looked back up into the near beseeching gaze of Gil-galad, the myriad emotions of ire and frustration as he had rarely felt before shining bright in his hard eyes. But to that, his voice came as a great foil, for he spoke softly, "I ever offer my counsel to you, Gil-galad, as I assured long years ago. And you need not speak of the need to keep secret this meeting from all."

Even as the King stood straighter, he seemed to sag in relief, and that in his eyes cleared to make way for the confidence so normally seen. "Good," he spoke quietly, looking briefly to Elrond and Glorfindel. "I am grateful, for I deem this decision to be beyond me."

"However," Celeborn added, and Gil-galad's attention was taken by the authoritative command that rang in his voice. And Celeborn looked at him, steady and unyielding. "Would you so enlighten me as to why you _specifically_ told me to see that my wife remained behind?"

Gil-galad visibly grimaced, his eyes darkening over whatever thought then entered his mind. But they cleared as he offered an apologetic smile. "My decision to exclude your wife from this was made not lightly, but Elrond spoke wise words in his counsel to me over her presence."

Celeborn raised an elegant eyebrow in question, eager to learn why Glorfindel and Elrond became so mildly discomfited. "And why did you counsel him thus?" he asked Elrond.

Elrond gestured towards Gil-galad. "My King's invitation to attend this meeting was also extended to Lord Círdan, who has obviously yet to arrive."

The other eyebrow joined the first. "Is there something that remains unknown to me?" he came to ask. "Círdan would never deny you his counsel, Gil-galad, at yet you three look as if you are dreading his very presence. Aye, he will be as pleased about the topic of our discussion as I am, but –"

Gil-galad shook his head. "No, Celeborn. He has yet to know that the Elven Rings were not destroyed."

Celeborn's eyes widened, shock shining bright within them. "_He does not know_?" he demanded incredulously. "How could he not?"

Gil-galad shrugged. "I have yet to tell him."

Celeborn felt frustration well up and he voiced it ere it could be contained as his eyes slightly narrowed in acerbic skepticism. "Círdan is your senior lieutenant and oldest advisor, Your Majesty, and Mithlond is no great distance away. When not in his Havens, he has ever been amidst your presence. How could you_ not_ find time to inform him of this potentially important fact?"

"Think not to scold me, Celeborn," the King retorted, his tone of voice unyielding as he looked every inch of the king he was. "Aye, Círdan stands at my left hand as Elrond does at my right, but this War for Eriador demanded his every effort and asset. For ere Lindon and Mithlond were besieged by the Enemy, he spent the years of the war setting out to sea with his Fleet to launch repetitive attacks along the shorelines, even so far south to the Enedwaith and up the Gwathló, as to strike the Enemy's rear, all in effort to counter Sauron's progress over Eriador. Even when Círdan returned to Mithlond, not even two days passed ere he and his crew set out again, and this systematized circulation was carried out by all of Círdan's Fleet. The Sea-elves returned only from their combating by ship for provisions and restock of artillery. Though we took counsel together in the small time Círdan remained on the shore, that time remained seldom. And _this_ is something I could not mention in passing, not to him. And thus, the years passed and the Rings remained locked away."

Celeborn felt the frustration fade away to be replaced by dull weariness that devoured his peace of mind. But he understood and spoke naught against that Gil-galad claimed. Amid the time Eregion had lain under siege and ere Celebrimbor had made his final stand at Ost-in-Edhil, all communications had been cut off from the surviving Elves, for the Enemy's reach had stretched long and far as to wholly engulf every exit, every pathway that could secret a person out of the Elven city. Day in and day out for over two years, the Elves had fought the foul hoards of Sauron, but to no avail. Death had been their destiny and Celeborn had despaired upon the battlefield.

But their saving grace had come through Gil-galad, who had reached out his hand through his herald and sent aid with the few regiments he could spare. And it was only after Celeborn and the survivors had escaped the sacking of Eregion and made their desperate way to seek refuge in what then became Imladris did Celeborn finally learn all that had happened in Eriador amidst the war.

As Sauron had been invading Eriador with foul beast and deranged spawn of Morgoth, Gil-galad had thrown up the walls of defense, and they had remained mighty and strong as the regiments of the High King had been sent to combat the efforts of Sauron. But the strength of the Dark Lord had proven powerful and great, and the optimism of victory for the Elves diminished. Thus, at Círdan's insistence, the Shipwright had readied all of the Sea-elven Fleet to cast off and fend, and the armada of mighty ships had voyaged as a solid cloud over the sea.

Celeborn had been able to visualize it in mind's eye, for he had before witnessed the headway of Círdan's ships as they rowed underway as one body. It had been as squadrons uniformly marching upon a battleground, and to be armed to the teeth as they were, such a sight to the Orcs had been fearsome to behold as the Sea-elves passed up and down the coast to harry the enemy with swift landings. But, as Celeborn had been informed, Círdan had struck daily twice, once among the zenith of the Sun and then again during the mid of night. The Shipwright had coordinated his Fleet with the instruction to run aground all along the western coast throughout Harlindon and Minhiriath. To take by surprise the Enemy and strike them hard ere retreating back out to sea where no Evil could prevail, raining volleys of arrows upon them as they stood on the shore. To lay ruses within the Eryn Vorn, to burn their carts and set free their beasts of burden, to divert their attention to the empty south, to send the mariners of the greatest experience up the Rivers Baranduin and Gwathló as to cause the Enemy grievance far inland. By land and sea the Sea-elves fought and did so valiantly, ever retreating upon retaliation out to the waters where Sauron could not reach them. Only to attack again the very next day.

The repetitive raids and skirmishes by the sea-folk had been a nuisance on the normal day. But after four years of this with not even one day's reprieve, all the while having to contest the potency of Gil-galad's command, Círdan's tactics had proven to be a mighty hindrance in the end, for Sauron's advancement had been gradually slowed. And at the knowledge of this, the Sea-elves grew confident and delivered all the might they had.

But that had all changed not even a month later, for though Sauron had been slowed, it had not been enough. Always before, Sauron had naught of courage to assail the Havens or pass over the Ered Luin to where Gil-galad still maintained his power. That was, his fear lasted until all of Eriador fell under the Dark Lord's dominion and he had besieged Imladris. It was then Sauron's hand had finally stretched forth with fearsome might to Lindon and Mithlond, and he had released his full power and strength of arms as to conquer the only cities that remained for him to claim. Círdan had signaled from the coasts their retreat and the whole flock of Sea-elves had voyaged a desperate race back to their home to defend their precious Havens. But even with the armies of both the High King and Shipwright, their state had been dire and no man of arms could be spared.

But then Minastir, Heir to the Númenórean King, had finally sent a Fleet to aid their desperate need, and victory had been achieved at last.

All this flashed through Celeborn's mind within the space of a few heartbeats, and the Sinda tore his mind away from such bitter memories. He looked to the King, undaunted by the brightness of his gaze, and gave a small nod. "I understand," he came to say. "I apologize for my words, for they were spoken in haste. I had forgotten the extension of Círdan's methods to exhaust his efforts in the war, though I should have remembered, for he applied the same tactics upon the Falas once upon a time. But though you kept your silence from Círdan for eight years on the matter of the Elven Rings, he must have sensed something of it."

Gil-galad shrugged. "I know neither what he thought nor sensed. But in him is the greatest insight I have seen, and I shall need it this night. Besides, I can bear not to keep it from him any longer."

Celeborn nodded again, his eyes distant amid his rampant thoughts. "I understand now why you refused my wife's presence."

Gil-galad nodded in turn, his jaw clenching as a wave of aberrant taciturnity swept over his visage. "I had hoped you would understand. I have just not the energy for it now."

Celeborn nodded with an inward grimace, for he could sympathize. The Lord Círdan and the Lady Galadriel were polar opposites, and any with a keen eye could see so. Thus, their toleration of one another was held at a bare minimum in effort for dignity to be upheld before the eyes of others. Despite the renowned kindness of Galadriel, the renowned wisdom of Círdan and that they fought the same foe, both remained as east was from the west, and to invite them both to debate this specific matter was to invite certain disaster, for tongues would not be held by either party.

Gil-galad had been forced to choose, Celeborn realized. And in light of all events, Celeborn, to his disappointment, could speak not that the King had chosen wrongly at all. Despite the fierce love he held for his wife, Celeborn saw as Gil-galad did that Galadriel's presence would be of no aid in this matter. But he would ponder not on it any further.

"Have you invited any others?" he instead asked.

A negative shake of the head came in answer. "Not so," Gil-galad said. "As I spoke, this must be kept secret, and I judge five in number to be the greatest we can risk. I shall not hazard Sauron's eye being turned on Lindon from some imprudently spoken word by passersby."

Celeborn gave an absent nod. "And so we must wait for Círdan," he murmured. "Why is he late, do we know? Delay is unlike him."

"We do," Elrond spoke at Gil-galad's questioning glance. "The Númenórean healers I spoke with this night informed me that the commanders of the Fleet had long been in discussion with Círdan in preparation for their departure from the Havens. Círdan had no knowledge of this meeting and he will dismiss no commander ere they are finished. Though I judge their meeting should soon be ended."

"But," Gil-galad interjected ere Celeborn could speak, "all such may be for the better in light of what Elrond and I were speaking of." He sent a surreptitious glance to his herald at that and Elrond cast down his eyes by a little, as though in bitter reluctance, and Celeborn did not understand.

"And what is this?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow. "Now you wish not for Círdan's presence? You seemed to have discussed much ere this meeting truly began."

"I spoke not so and aye, we have, though I remain glad we did." Gil-galad pulled his chair from the desk and sat down, leaning upon his elbows as he speared Celeborn with a bright gaze that often encouraged none to look away. "Lend me your counsel. Our time grows short and a Guardian must be elected, for we have thus deemed it wise to reject the proposal of only keeping them hidden."

Celeborn shared a speculative glance with all three of them, resorting to his usual pragmatism found in any deep blooded Sinda. "You speak of Guardians and time and secrecy, of trust and counsel and concern, all for a decision made. Though trusted the Elves you pick shall be, how shall they react when thrown before the dragon's teeth? Should the Enemy hold the Guardian's family hostage against him, will he then have to choose between them and a Ring of Power?" From the corner of his eye, he saw Elrond's gaze cloud over and knew he remembered how Elwing had been forced to make a similar decision, of how his mother had chosen a Jewel over going to her sons. But he pushed that dark memory away and focused his full intensity upon Gil-galad. "Could you trust them then, when by them the course of doom may be decided?"

Gil-galad sighed, casting an unreadable glance down at the two still Rings, and his words were soft-spoken. "And so come your first words of counsel," he uttered. "I would that the Elf elected would be without such bonds of love upon the soul. I would wish that torment to be risked on no one."

"Then what if he should have a city?" Celeborn countered, pressing him as to give no leeway. And he was insistent, even urgent, and his eyes were hard with the light of the stars. "A head of a community? A command of a troop? How much must an Elf be without so that his commitment to guard the Ring will not be swayed, should that he has become threatened? Could you do such, Your Majesty? Could you force that decision upon them should it ever come? For it very may well be just so."

Though he remained strong in bearing, Gil-galad seemed to wither within himself under Celeborn's intent eyes. And in that split moment, he looked to be far from the fearsome warrior whom Celeborn had witnessed wielding Aeglos as though it were an extension of his body. "What would you rather be done, my lord?" he deigned to ask, the helpless tinge coating the words so foreign for the King that it made Celeborn's core ache for him. "Keep them sealed away, whether by lock of Dwarven craft or Elven words? Bury them in an island out at sea? Place them in the nests of Eagles?"

"You can send them on a ship into the West, for all I care," Celeborn grumbled, ill-humored. "Let Middle-earth be free of them fully, I say." Because of a history he wished had never been, Celeborn had little love for that of Noldorin make.

Glorfindel huffed in what sounded as ill amusement, and his bright eyes were sharp as he looked upon the Rings. "Presuming that the Valar would even welcome the Rings in their Land, for they were made with the craft of Sauron's skill. Though evil they may not be, the Rings carry with them evil memory, and are bound up in that which embodies all Sauron is."

Gil-galad lifted an eyebrow at Glorfindel and drummed his fingers once along the desk. "Indeed so. Yet should it be good to even destroy them, I know not how to. Celebrimbor kept any such knowledge secret from me."

Celeborn raised a silver eyebrow, the movement so slight it might have gone unnoticed. "Would you if you did?" he inquired quietly.

Beneath the inquisitive words, the challenge of them was heard bright and clear, no matter how subtle the sound. But Gil-galad took no offense and kept his silence, something of a near sorrowful gleam shining bright in his eyes as he peered deeply into those of Celeborn, so deeply that any other witness might have proclaimed them to be mind-speaking. "I would like to believe I would, yet it cannot be done. But to keep the Rings merely hidden…for how long would they remain secreted away ere they are found? See you not now why a Guardian must be chosen, Celeborn? Were it in your power, would you do otherwise? Would that our options were not so few, but our hands remain bound in what we must do."

Though no thought could be read upon his face, Celeborn accepted the resignation within. And for a brief moment, he quickly brought to memory every reason why he had granted this Noldorin Elf his respect – and substantial trust. And with that, he allowed the brewing storm of raw emotions to be quelled within. "Then your decision is made, one I cannot declare wholly in the wrong," he finally came to speak. "And now you would seek my counsel for what? _Who_ should be the Guardians?"

"Guardian," Gil-galad corrected, stressing the singular noun. "I will bear the burden of Vilya – the Blue Ring."

Celeborn raised a skeptical eyebrow. "You will?"

Gil-galad nodded, and his shoulders briefly slumped in what appeared to be exhaustion, or from a weight too heavy unseen by the eye. "Aye, I shall," he spoke in a quiet voice, so far from what inspired obedience in his battalions. "What king is a king who will not give to his people that his people give to him? Shall I ask of an Elf to bear an Elven Ring and with it all its afflictions, while I myself go free?" With a definitive shake of his head, he answered his own question. "My people are my glory, and not to one of them will I demand such a sacrifice without giving it myself."

He looked down to the two bands upon his desk and picked up the one with the blue stone, turning it between his fingers as he cast his gaze in intrigue upon it. "I shall take Vilya, for Celebrimbor spoke reverently of her power ere he departed to return to Eregion, and of how so great is its might that it would cast a shadow upon that of Narya and Nenya together. For that, I shall keep guard of the Ring of Air, for if there was only one Ring of Power Sauron would strive to obtain, it is this one. Though, I fear to have not the strength to bear two, so now I must call upon one who will aid me."

He set the Ring to rest beside Narya, the gold of the band sounding a tiny _tap_ as it made contact with the wood. And Celeborn was left in further amazement by the beautiful simplicity of its appearance, of how in that it was as deceiving as the guise of Annatar. But the Sinda looked again to Gil-galad, feeling within the sense of approval that had long been equated with this High King.

And Celeborn nodded once his head in acquiesce. "And so you have decided," he spoke lowly. "I would that it could be otherwise, but your mind is made. So it is for Narya who we seek a Guardian. Surely none of your thoughts have remained idle on possible candidates."

"Indeed not," Gil-galad murmured in bitter amusement as he exchanged a swift glance with Elrond and Glorfindel. "Many are those who I have considered, yet is has been not easy. There are a dozen who have my explicit trust, and over a handful whom I would trust bearing Narya. But as Glorfindel counseled, trust is not all I must look for."

Glorfindel nodded, his arms folded across his chest. "Indeed so. The power of the Elven Rings is great, and one should wonder why Celebrimbor revealed the Red Ring with the title of Narya the Great, when in Vilya the greatest might is stowed. The Elf to whom His Majesty makes this request must be strong of spirit as to remain unconquered by the power of the Ring, for there are many Elves whom I know that have not the strength for such a task."

Elrond was agreeing to Glorfindel's words with slow nods, and he cocked his head in speculation. "Should war be waged for an Elven Ring, the cost will not end at the loss of arms. And thus, we would have to resort to trusting one to have the strength to not allow that loss to be in vain."

Celeborn nodded also. "Your words have logic, yet I say again: Even considering this, your thoughts must not have been idle."

Gil-galad sighed. "And so the debate opens anew."

And thusly went their discussion for the next half hour. To Celeborn Gil-galad spoke many names of Elves young and old, counselor and warrior, male and female, Sinda and Noldo, High-elf and Dark-elf alike. Quiet was the King's voice, and he spoke many words pertaining to each Elf as he gave a carefully outlined evaluation of their character. Glorfindel and Elrond repeated their counsel to him upon each new Elf discussed, and between the four the histories, triumphs and failures of each Elf was laid as an open book. No secret was left and no opinion withheld. In little to no time, Celeborn learned of their thoughts relating to seventeen different Elves who might have the strength and trust to bear Narya. Some of them Celeborn had met. With some he had taken counsel and shared wine with in their merriment. With some Celeborn had shared blood and sweat in defense of Doriath and Sirion, and later Eregion. But with all, Celeborn could perceive within why Gil-galad had considered them.

But because only one Elf could be chosen, many were spoken of and discarded as the time passed. And as bidden, Celeborn lent his insight on many of the Elves named, for those he knew personally he knew better than the King or his herald did. But in the end, though the list of Elves had been shortened to a bare few, none of them in that meeting could choose one with any level of conviction. Opinions were divided, and after fifteen more minutes of heavy debate, however softly spoken, they might as well have been back to the beginning.

And Celeborn repressed a sigh as the talks seemed to go in circles. He had long ago seated himself in an armchair and took a moment to again be stunned by how long Noldor in particular were able to discuss one subject indefinitely without arriving to any conclusions. Words had been repeated several times over and discontent could be felt within all of them.

When a lull in the conversation came, Gil-galad looking as frustrated as ever, Celeborn spoke, "As the night lengthens, my patience wanes. Surely, Your Majesty, you must have instinctively had some idea on whom you would choose to be the Guardian when first you knew you would have to find one."

Gil-galad huffed, a genuine spark of wry amusement in his eye as he shot a swift glance at Glorfindel. "You are correct, and those Elves have remained in my thoughts for the past eight years." He gestured with one hand towards the Balrog-slayer, who stood resolute and unreadable. "Glorfindel was the first I asked, yet I suspect he placed upon it not one thought ere he refused."

Celeborn cast a speculative look on the golden-haired Elf, his brow narrowed in thought as he wondered why he had not considered the High-elf before. Indeed, Celeborn found himself far more satisfied with the notion of Glorfindel being a Ring-bearer than any other Elf they had thusly named. But ere he could cast any real thought upon it, Glorfindel had raised an eyebrow at Gil-galad, amusement mingled with apologetic rejection in his eyes.

"And I say again, my lord," Glorfindel spoke, "though I would that I could do as you request as to ease your worry, I cannot. I swore an oath ere I returned to Middle-earth, and I will allow nothing to infringe upon that. And the responsibility of Narya most certainly would."

Elrond, Celeborn saw, looked decidedly uncomfortable upon hearing this and he allowed himself an inward smile. So obsessive was Glorfindel over the wellbeing of Elrond that his mother-henning tendencies in times of danger were quick to be recognized. How was one to feel, Celeborn wondered, when he knew he had been assigned a bodyguard with no say? Celeborn himself probably would have felt both touched and insulted.

But Gil-galad merely nodded in mute acceptance. "I know, and I bear you no grudge for it. You spoke of the same when I asked of you upon your return where your loyalty lay. It is well you remain steadfast."

"You spoke of Elves, Gil-galad," Celeborn spoke, laying stress on the plural. He leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, as he clasped his hands. "Who else has stayed with your thoughts these past years?"

Silence fell and Gil-galad exchanged an uneasy glance with Elrond, only encouraging further intrigue upon Celeborn. But the King swept his gaze over to Glorfindel, who merely shrugged, ere he let go a deep breath as he leaned against his chair. "The other I speak of is Círdan," he answered wearily.

Celeborn felt the world skewer slightly on its axis. And he could not refrain from gazing with incredulity at Gil-galad, his brow furrowed, so unsuspecting was he of the answer. "You would select Círdan?" he asked quietly, the disbelief in his voice a razor edge. "What led you to such a choice?"

The King's words were soft and his eyes vacant in thought. "He was my first choice," he came to say. "He has my love and trust as no other, for to me he is as a father. Truly, to him and all I kept my silence, for I feared that my electing to give him an Elven Ring was born from severe partial thought. I set aside the idea for the time of the war, but it remained with me." He glanced again at Elrond. "But after speaking of it tonight with Elrond and Glorfindel, I am further convinced asking Círdan to bear Narya is the wiser course. He raised me from childhood and all for the First Age, where he went, I went with him and knew him.

"And you know as well as I do, Celeborn, in that he is mighty among the Wise and so old in age to be beyond partial thought. His judgments come never rash and he knows as any could what lies at stake. In his ways he has remained through the Ages and is too old to change." His eyes clouded over with some undecipherable thought. "And mayhap most imperative, Círdan remains selfless and has no pride to lead him astray. He knows what sacrifice is and, from experience, when to give it. And in wielding Narya, his Sight will lend him aid. Indeed so, he would be better off with Narya than I Vilya."

"Furthermore," Glorfindel quietly interrupted, "though I know him not as well as all of you, with him resonates the Song strongly with no discord, as though his body and soul were the extension of it. In that alone, you may trust he will betray Narya to no enemy, for it is spoken of his obedience to the Song and all it commands."

Celeborn looked between all three of them. "And you tell all this to me why?"

Gil-galad raised an eyebrow. "You seemed surprised I had suggested Círdan as a Ring-bearer. I merely seek for you to know of my reasons why I did."

"For what purpose serves that?" Celeborn challenged. "Your decision is already made."

Gil-galad's eyes were grave. "It is not. You have known Círdan longer than I by millennia. And if in your heart you have any doubts of his ability to be the Ring-bearer we seek, speak them now, I say! I refuse to be with misgiving in deciding whom to give Narya. You come as opposed to this, my lord, so speak why."

And Celeborn was opposed to it, but only for the love he had long held for the old Shipwright. Guarding Narya would be always a burden, not a blessing, and Círdan was the last Elf Celeborn wished to bear it. But only because of his love for him, and that love was of the greatest. "I have no doubts, Gil-galad," he reassured, his tone of voice weary and long-suffering. "For all the reasons you have named and more, I can think of no better candidate. In every way, Círdan is the opposite of my wife, and for that alone I would elect him. Long have I known him and great is my faith in him. And as a Ring-bearer, he will serve well, but to ask him to bear Narya…."

Gil-galad narrowed his eyes, though not impolitely. "What is it, Celeborn? Why your hesitancy?"

In a helpless gesture of disbelief Celeborn lifted his hands. "Elbereth above, Gil-galad, he will not want it!" Valar, he _knew_ Círdan, and nothing could have been surer.

The High King sighed, lifting his fingers to press the bridge of his nose. "I know," he murmured. "I know more than most he will want it not. I owe him everything, and yet here I would seek to deepen my debt with this request."

"Not so, my lord," Celeborn corrected, his voice growing in conviction. "As you have spoken, I know Círdan well and I speak not lightly when I declare _he will not want it_. Círdan despises power, whether conjured for purposes of good or evil, and now you would ask him to wield it? After all he has lived through, you would request of him to bear upon his finger that he loathes most? It was because of power that brought about all the sorrow in his life. It was power that devoured Elves he knew, his _friends_ and turned them into Orcs. Power that besieged and ravaged his Havens upon the Falas, that slayed and enslaved most of his people and now brought further war upon him. And this is only what histories tell. And now to be faced with the power of Narya…._He will not want it_."

"Yet the question remains, my lord," Elrond interjected audaciously. "If not Círdan, then who? Who else is left?"

Celeborn ran a distressed hand over his face. "I know there is no one left, and as I spoke, I believe wholly there to be none better than Círdan for this task. Yet you must consider the folly in asking him, for to what way shall you turn if he refuses? And of that, you know well the chances are high."

Gil-galad shook his head and no doubt was seen in his eyes. "Círdan does not reject something simply because he does not like it."

"So now you would play upon his humble nature?"

Gil-galad's eyes sharpened as they seemed to light with fire and his voice remained eerily calm. "I will pretend to have not heard the insult, for I play no one, least of all Círdan. It is _because_ of his humility I trust him more than any other to bear this burden! You know me not well if you believe I look forward to this. Would I that there was another way! Yet if one is present I am blind to it." He visibly collected himself as he inhaled a long breath, and when he again opened his eyes, their blue had returned to their wise potency. And within them, a hint of sorrow was glimpsed. "I would give my life for Círdan, and it now breaks my heart that I must ask of him to sacrifice now even more, when already he has given so much for so little."

Celeborn regarded him solemnly, his anger withering away in face of the King's honesty and genuine guilt. He loved Círdan just as much as he did, Celeborn remembered, even should their reasons of why be similar or different. There were none to blame and none to have resentment for.

And so, Celeborn merely leaned back in his chair, feeling the exhaustion of the day all over again. "Very well," he spoke, and no contestation was in his voice. "I will go no more against this, for I have no argument to give. But _you_ will be the one to convince him to uptake the Ring. Let alone to inform him of the Rings' existence. Though stay your sweet words, I say, for to them his ears are closed." He huffed as he gave a small grin, though amusement remained far from present. "I understand now why you wished you had stayed calling Círdan to this meeting."

Gil-galad sent a dark glower at him, though there was no acrimony behind it. "Indeed, I truly wish I had not summoned him, for I would rather put this to him on a better day when our burdens have lessened some." He looked to the water-clock along the far wall. "An hour has now passed since Celeborn's arrival. Mayhap his meeting with Minastir's commanders became too great and prevented his coming, for I know he will not have them pay the price for him to attend a meeting he had no knowledge of." Celeborn grinned at the ill-disguised hope in his voice.

"Not quite," Glorfindel announced, and they all turned to look at him. He had moved from his stance beside Elrond to the window and was peering between the heavy draperies down below to the darkened courtyard. "He is crossing the courtyard now."

Gil-galad sighed again. "Manwë help me," he lightly cursed.

To be continued….

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**A/N:** I believe I could safely presume saying that we all know what exact gap-filler this is. And the content of the next chapter I believe goes without saying. My only comment is that Gil-galad is right to dread it. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. And before I receive any questions (or complaints) about Galadriel being barred from this meeting, I will only say that the matter is touched on heavily in the next chapter and in the one after that. This isn't a place for random Galadriel bashing on my part, for there _is_ an imperative reason for it. But stepping back from this story, I would just like to thank you all for sticking through Chapter 2. And as always, reviews are deeply cherished and all words you have to offer. Please do so!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** For full disclaimer, see Chapter 1.

**A/N:** All right, I had _way_ too much fun writing this chapter. I suppose that warrants some kind of warning. And not all things in this segment seem as they are, so please don't be too quick to judge. :) Many things are expanded throughout coming chapters. And you know already what comes in this chapter, so I won't speak anything on it. Though, I regret to say that the content of this chapter became too long and had to be divided between this chapter and Ch. 4. Some of the things expected in this chapter will have to wait. But with that, let's get to it and I hope you enjoy this segment as much as I enjoyed writing it. And my gratitude goes to the author who permitted me to use her quote below. And my endless thanks go to **Lia Whyteleafe**, **Certh**, **AntiCreator**, **GreenGreatDragon**, **Melty-chan 93**, **Glory Bee**, and **Sadie Sil – English stories** for reviewing.

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"Knowing from experience, it was better to meet the storm than to be caught by it…." – _Waiting_ by Lia Whyteleafe (FFN Writer)

**Chapter 3**

The Lord Círdan was coming. Scarce minutes remained and in question Celeborn looked to Gil-galad, his face taut with impatience and eyes bright in their intensity. "Gil-galad," Celeborn spoke, his voice grave and low, "with every step he comes closer. Yet there is time still to turn from this course, for doubt I see in your eyes."

Upon him Gil-galad turned a dubious stare. "What became of giving no further argument? Would you that I have doubt?"

Celeborn sighed and closed shut his eyes, resisting the impulse to run his fingers through his hair. "In my mind, I would have no other guard this Ring. Yet my heart cries against it." He cast to Gil-galad a beseeching gaze, despising the seed of misgiving that cried woe within. "Círdan loves his people," he stressed, his voice taut with some suppressed emotion. "As your people are your glory, his are his children. And some have been with him since ere Sun and Moon came to be. Valar, Gil-galad, you were _there_ when felled became his Havens. All the Shipwrights of old are dead. And all the while fleeing, Círdan could do nothing to stay the slaying of his people, and from his ship he could only look out to see become enslaved all those who remained. When Morgoth took captive his people…never had his grief diminished to mine eyes when I saw him long years after. So great was his sorrow that he could have opened himself to every pain in the world, and it would have not increased his agony.

"And now to have him bear Narya…." Celeborn paused to collect himself and looked into the candlelight, his eyes unseeing of the soft glow amid his thoughts. "Should Sauron learn that he guards Narya, he would make swift to the Havens as Morgoth did, wielding Death in his hand and the promise of history to come anew on his lips. An ultimatum would be offered, even if not honored. And though I know Círdan would surrender never the greater peril of the Free Peoples…." He trailed off and shook his head, shedding off the dark presentiments upon his thoughts. "Either way, whether by anger or will to conquer, Sauron would slaughter the Sea-elves. The thought of Círdan having to live it again, when this time it may be of his own doing….Never upon him would I wish it."

Gil-galad's eyes had darkened, and haunting memories swam in their dilated depths. "I know," he whispered. Whether by blessing or fair fortune, Gil-galad had lived to tell the tale of the fall of the Falas, of that of a childhood home lost. But of the memories, the pain and grief were still as sharp as when first they came, for alongside Círdan he had stood upon that ship, helpless in watching the great Havens of old burn as an orange haze along the dark horizon. The cry and despair of the Elves that day still flowed through the waters. "And thus, by your words, high Prince, secrecy is our best ally, and to that we must hold. All here I trust to keep silent beyond my door. The doom you speak of shall never diminish, so long as there are Ring-bearers unto whom it may fall, and of them Círdan is one."

He then looked to Celeborn, and in his eyes a hard light shone akin to that Celeborn once saw in Thingol's eyes when first he had learnt of the slaying of his kin, of his brother's people. "I _was_ there," he spoke bitterly, "and I remember well the fear in his eyes when beheld he did the killing and enslaving of his people, and never wish I to see it again. But if what you speak should come to pass, the Sea-elves would stand not alone against the wrath of Mordor, for Lindon would answer their call, as Mithlond would come to me should Sauron hunt Vilya. The Enemy is strong, but in our allies the faith is stronger." He cocked his head then, a speculative twinkle in his eye. "Yet, consider this. If you stripped of him his people and their fidelity to thusly leave him as naught but a lone Elf upon the shore, stand firm would you in giving Círdan Narya?"

Celeborn fell silent, casting much thought upon the question, though he knew already his answer. And resignation lay once more in his voice as he responded, for Gil-galad had called the error in his protests and fixated on him the impossibility of Círdan (and his people) avoiding the doom they might face amid this responsibility. He had been effectively cornered, something not easily done, and Celeborn's respect for Gil-galad inched up a tad.

"My approval has changed not now, nor would it then, for he has no such bonds of family upon the soul, and would at least be free of such torment." Celeborn looked to the door, waiting for the heartbeat in that it would open. "Círdan would risk no discovery of Narya, for Middle-earth has his love and if guarding the Red Ring aids her wellbeing, then he shall."

Gil-galad raised an eyebrow. "And yet you voice still the warning in your heart. So now I must ask: When I put forth the request to Círdan, in this will you stand with me, or speak against it?"

Celeborn wasted no time in answering and no hesitation was heard in his voice. "I will stand with you, Your Majesty. In my love for him, I would that Círdan go unburdened. Yet foolish it remains to deny the wisdom of this decision. Círdan is no stranger to grief and greater than all is his acumen gained through experience. He is mighty among my kin, and there are few to match him in strength of mind and spirit, or the power he has long held."

Celeborn sighed. "No stranger to grief, indeed, yet alas, he remains not immune to it. Though his heart has hardened against the blows, I feel he shall receive further blows because of Narya, and grief and pain will come upon him once again."

It was with shrewdness that Gil-galad then regarded him, and the depths of his eyes shone bright and intense as he worked to discern that Celeborn was speaking, for the King now deemed it to be possibly beyond mere fear out of Celeborn's love for his kinsman, and suspected instead that Celeborn's protests were born of some dark foreboding. Over the passing centuries and then millennia, Gil-galad's respect for the Sinda had grown deep. But with that growth of respect came also an understanding of the Dark-elf, of personally_ knowing_ him. Knew the King well that Celeborn had no endowment of the Sight, yet so deeply with Ennor was he bound that it seemed he was capable of sensing at times how the Song within the land was doomed to unravel, especially when it concerned that of his kin. And Gil-galad had witnessed times in the past when Celeborn had felt these "feelings" that suggested always some gloomy premonition that, whether eventual or immediate, came always to pass.

And now that it was with adamancy Celeborn spoke this warning in his heart, it gave cause for Gil-galad to hesitate. He knew not of how either hurt or woe could befall the Shipwright than by through the danger they had named thus far, and never would he condemn Círdan to stand alone in this. Gil-galad loved Círdan, and what once was soft concern became worry, something he appreciated not by any means.

But his eyes softened, and Gil-galad looked once into his herald's intelligent gaze, seeing the same manner of thoughts in his eyes, ere turning back to Celeborn. "Know you this with certainty?"

Celeborn shook his head. "Nothing is certain, though I fear it nonetheless."

"Then so it shall be," Gil-galad spoke. "You say Círdan is strong, so trust in such. Would that I could bear it for him, yet I have not the strength."

Celeborn nodded as he leant back in his chair, forcing away the stress felt in his shoulders and neck. "Since this path is chosen, know you what you will say?"

Gil-galad shook his head, but was saved from speaking as Elrond tilted his own to the side, his eyes vacant as he listened. "Círdan is coming," he announced, and Celeborn heard the distant footfalls scarcely audible on the stones of the hallway floor. Elrond furrowed his brow. "He is not alone."

A look of alarm crossed the King's face. "He was told to come alone."

Ere a response to that could be voiced, a knock sounded light on the door and Gil-galad bid him on the other side to enter. And Círdan did so, though he took not one step into the room. Of the tallest of Elves, he stood framed in the doorway, a hand upon the brass handle. His hair fell long and silver, his soft beard was of the same hue and the light of his grey eyes fey and bright. He was arrayed in raiment in every way befitting a mariner and in such contrast to that of the King, for the Shipwright wore no robes, elegant and dignified, as Gil-galad did. For as that of Gil-galad's softly expressed his eminence and grace, the durable attire of Círdan was made to withstand the buffeting of the coarse gales of the sea and to keep him warm against the ocean chill. All that distinguished his lordly head in the chain of command was the hue of sea-gold adorned along his collar.

And Celeborn sat straighter in his chair at the sight of him, a reaction born more from instinct than respect, for, since as far back as Celeborn could recall, the spirit of Círdan came to him as a wave crashing upon the cliffs – its impact could not be denied being felt. And the Shipwright's fëa sung another melody Celeborn also was incapable of decrypting, even after all the long years. For the Lord of Shipwrights was old by the reckoning of Elves, and his harmony in the Song went far beyond their comprehension, a depth too deep to see the bottom, thus resulting in keeping him as legend among counting lore. A shipwright he remained, and though his visage was no longer one of youth, the greatness of the sea was in his face.

But with him, Celeborn had always felt subtle warmth, as that of a burning ember that never died. Though, by the unreadable chill of his gaze, he looked to be anything but as an ember at the moment.

But behind Círdan was an Elf Celeborn had no expectation of laying sight on, and he was the High-elf Galdor, a distinguished Noldo Celeborn had met few times before. He stood to Círdan's side tall and strong, the Light of Valinor shining bright in his face, and he looked upon the scene in Gil-galad's study in mingled curiosity, confusion, and slight alarm. But Celeborn still wondered as to why he was present in the first place.

Gil-galad had stood as Círdan entered and Celeborn stood with him. And the High King offered a small smile, of no value as it was felt to be. "Fair evening, Lord Círdan and Lord Galdor," he greeted with all courtesy befitting his person. And he nodded towards them both. "Thank you for coming."

Though Galdor gave a respectful nod in response, Círdan did nothing and seemed to have been deaf to the words of the King. He remained eerily still in the frame of the door, so immobile he may have passed as a statue. His extended arm was taut as a bow and the cords of his strong hand flexed as it clenched at the door handle. His face was as though carved from stone and Celeborn quickly caught sight of how his eyes were greatly dilated. Eyes keen as the stars, they now shone so dark that their depths seemed bottomless. But a shiver ran down Celeborn's spine as he observed this, for a kindling fury was beheld in the Shipwright's eyes that Celeborn had seen only once before, and his own greeting of the two Elves died on his lips.

For Círdan paid neither the King nor any other any heed as he stared at that upon Gil-galad's desk, and nothing and no one could have stood before the intensity of his gaze, so strong was his regard of the Elven Rings. And Celeborn thought upon this in interest, for he recalled how he had come to sense the discordance of Ilúvatar's Song within the study and had gone to discover it. He wondered if Círdan had sensed the same. Círdan was far more attuned to the World and the powers indwelling it than he, and Celeborn had little doubt that the Sea-elf had felt deep within and identified the strong discord of the Song as soon as he had entered the room.

And from whatever fey spell he looked to have fallen under, Círdan came to, and no thought was in his face, though his eyes remained ever bright. Still, he looked at no one and turned instead to Galdor, turning only his head to regard the Noldo. A few quiet words were spoken at a murmur and Galdor nodded to them ere bowing once towards the King. He then turned on his heel and swiftly left, his soft footfalls quickly disappearing down the hall.

And Círdan turned back to Gil-galad and looked upon him steadily, though a muscle clenched along his jaw. He closed shut the door behind him ere walking forward into the room, his steps slow and measured, and a shadow might have been trailing behind him, so dark was his temper. He looked once in insightful thought to Elrond, to Glorfindel, and then to Celeborn. But it was only a passing glance and Círdan's attention was fully for the King again. He remained silent, and so concentrated was his gaze that it seemed he vehemently refused to look upon the bands set with stone before him.

"Círdan," spoke Gil-galad, his admirable calm kept in face of the raw fury Círdan so obviously suppressed. "I am grateful you came, yet the hour is late. Where have you been?"

"With Admiral Ciryatur." Círdan's answer was abrupt and brusque, and he spoke no more. Celeborn recognized the name, and he needed a moment to recall from where ere he remembered: Ciryatur had been the Commander of all of the Númenórean Fleet sent by Minastir one year ago. The Admiral had been pivotal in their victory over Sauron, for the Númenórean warriors had proven more than equal to the armies of the Dark Lord, and the march of the Enemy southwards out of Eriador had been forced.

Ciryatur had been cunning in the division of his forces, for while Sauron had been amassing his hoards throughout Arthedain as to finally conquer the desperate Elves of Mithlond and Lindon barely holding their lands, the Admiral had sent down south some of his Fleet, a movement that had resulted in the great slaughter of the Enemy on the River Baranduin. And amid the hard strike of the Enemy's rear, the main fleet under the command of Ciryatur had landed in Lindon, turning the tide and swiftly bringing about the heavy defeat of Sauron and forcing his panicked retreat. But Ciryatur had not ended his efforts there, for he had bidden the Fleet to voyage further south and up the River Gwathló to strike Sauron's forces in the rear a second time. And with the aid of reinforcements from Lindon and Tharbad, the final Battle had been fought and victory over the Enemy had been won. After contesting for over one year the unconquerable Númenórean strength, Sauron had retreated back to Mordor and not even the wisest could discern what he now sought to make ready in his Dark Tower.

And on the morrow, Ciryatur and his Men would depart from Lindon, to return to their ships on the shore and to embark on their return voyage to Númenor. Lord Círdan and his Sea-elves would go with him, and would take part in the formal leave-taking ceremony Gil-galad was to hold in honor of the Númenóreans ere returning to their home in Mithlond as to begin the reparations from the war. And Celeborn surmised that Círdan had just been in meeting with Ciryatur and the other Commanders in effort to coordinate the deployment of the two separate Fleets, Elven and Mannish, moored all along the quays of Lindon.

"Is there anything the Númenóreans bid me to know?" Gil-galad asked.

"No."

Gil-galad's discomfort grew to be visible. Ignorance need not be feigned, and all knew so. "Círdan," he again attempted, gesturing once towards his door, "Galdor –"

"I will speak with Galdor on what he saw," Círdan assured, though his terse tone gave no quarter, and any congeniality and quietude so habitually heard within his voice was gone. "Be not concerned with his silence. But _you_ will tell me what is beheld by mine eyes. _Why_ see I two of the Three that should rightly not be?"

Gil-galad sighed, his eyes grieved as he regarded Círdan in all his ire. "Círdan, you _knew_ the Elven Rings were never destroyed. Amid the war they passed out of knowledge and sight and tales traveled far and fast, but never was the absence of their power felt. If the Three had been destroyed, we would have known so. _You_ would have known so. If, truly, you believed them fully gone, what word had then come from the sea that you be so deceived?"

Though his visage remained impassive, the eyes of Círdan darkened, and his voice was immeasurably quiet and even. "The sea is not treated as an open book, to be looked upon and read at leisure. Many words passed through the waters and much news came to mine ears from the rivers, yet I am no Master of the Seas and my ability to discern fully that which passes through the flowing waters pales greatly in comparison. What the Vala Ulmo bids me to hear, I hear it. And for the past century, I heard much of the Elven Rings, and the waters flowed rampant of them this past decade. But amid the rupture of war and siege of Eregion, so discordant was the song of the sea that their disharmony was lost to me. The Waters never deceive and do not suggest so."

Gil-galad looked at him and his eyes were solemn, and Celeborn was aware that Gil-galad knew better than any how mightily Círdan trusted in the Sea. It could only be imagined the distress conjured when nothing within the sea-music could be heard with any amount of certainty.

"I would never suggest so," Gil-galad spoke. "You are far more adept to hearing the song of the sea as it remains foreign to me. I only wondered if you had heard differently than what is spoken outside of the few who have known of the Three these past years."

Círdan narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side ever so slightly. And the chill of growing suspicion was in his voice. "For how long have had you two of the Three in possession?"

There was a moment of fraught silence while came the abnormally loud sounds of the hearth. "For eight years past, since the war began."

"And you spoke naught of it to me." Círdan merely looked upon Gil-galad, his brow furrowed. "Ereinion…." The disappointment and hurt could be not concealed from his voice, and by his distressed eyes, Gil-galad was torn between guilt and resolve as the myriad sentiments of the Mariner struck him to the core.

But no wavering was heard in his words as he spoke that already told to Celeborn. "Rare were the times I saw you, for you remained seldom on the shore amid your returns." He shook his head in a helpless manner. "Though I was desperate for your counsel and to share quiet words, I _could not_, in good conscience, speak of this in passing, not when so directed was your attention towards defeating the Enemy. Forgive me if by this I have wronged you, but I deem my judgment to have been good."

"Good judgment," Círdan murmured with a great amount of revulsion in his voice. His breaths came short and deep and all manners of self-control were visibly seen to be hanging by a thread. His eyes were bright as he speared Gil-galad with a look of challenge, and anger shone sharp with it. "A rarity these days. And if such judgment of yours is good, my son, then where has it gone? For eight years you have guarded these Rings. _Why_ do they still remain far from ruin?"

Gil-galad gave a slight raise of his shoulders, helpless in manner once again. "I know naught of how to bring about their destruction. When Celebrimbor gave his Rings into my Keeping, he kept silent from me any such knowledge."

"Damned fool," Círdan hissed, turning on his heel away from the King. He meandered to and fro before the desk, his steps slow and inaudible on the intricately woven embroidery beneath him. His hair as that of spun silver gleamed under the meager light, its hue dancing as it shifted with his movement. Yet Círdan's eyes shone as fire, and ire beheld so seldom before grew as the grey orbs dawned with some realization.

"This was his purpose, no?" Círdan demanded, his voice taut with suppressed indignation as he worked to contain his rapidly rising temper, and a tremor was heard only just. "It was for the Elven Rings Sauron scoured Eriador, laying to waste any land and slaying any person to cross his path. _They_ were why the Enemy invaded your Kingdom. He was searching for _them_. Was this not so?"

Gil-galad was silent, and as no thought was in his face, defeat was in his blue eyes, eyes that had dimmed amid some secret thought elicited by the Sea-elf's words. And back to his chair he lowered himself as he looked to age fathoms more before the eyes of all there. And his answer was simple. "Aye."

"Morgoth take all Noldor," the Shipwright cursed in bitterness. "Alas that endless blood must be shed for it to be of any worth!"

"No drop of blood is meaningless," Gil-galad countered, matching with all the strength and courage of his own gaze that of Círdan's, an endeavor worthy of praise. "Not to me, and you know so. Would that I could give a drop of mine own blood for every drop sacrificed in my name, yet I am diminished from the great King I could be. But no Elf – or Man – went to death without cause. Victory was ours, and Sauron must now plot anew to conceive of our defeat when, now, we are steel-clad with the strength in our ally of Númenor, an alliance the Dark Lord had not foreseen. It shall be long years ere he goes to strike again."

"Four hundred and seven of my Sea-elves are dead," Círdan delivered in a mere whisper, the words themselves laden with lament and pain uncoated as he halted in his steps. "They will know not why they died and my Havens must go on, forever shorn of the blessing of their voices raised in song, of the laughter of their families dancing under the stars. Such grief shall be healed from and accepted, as it has already in my heart. But now to learn it was for the sake of damned jewels this accursed war was fought….Could it be their deaths meant nothing at all? Was their life just one more lie?"

Gil-galad heard the desolate tenor in the Shipwright's voice, the forsaken hope in his olden eyes. And he shook his head, grief unfathomable weighing on his heart. "No, Círdan –"

"Over four hundred of my Elves are dead," he repeated, his voice growing strong with acrimony as his brow furrowed. "And over a thousand more suffered wound. All for what? That Sauron lusts for lives on and Man and Elf alike devoured by Death in vain!"

"No deaths were in vain, and certainly not those of your people." Gil-galad stood again and his eyes had hardened. "Deprived of the steadfastness of Mithlond, Lindon would be overrun and my Kingdom conquered. My own people slain and my life at the mercy of Sauron's whim. Your people are mine, and those that died went not to the Halls of the Dead in vain. Never shall it be known so, nor shall they be forgotten on these shores."

His eyes ever solemn, Círdan only shook his head and gave an ill-humored chuckle, his voice empty of any emotion. "Promises of being never forgotten are kept only for those with a name to remember. Those dead of the sea-folk are gone. The world will not remember them and their bodies will turn to dust."

Gil-galad sought not to contest such words, for he knew it was in error to seek to comfort an Elf as ancient and as that of the Shipwright with words more intended for those young and new to grief, to which Círdan was no stranger. Yet so accustomed was Gil-galad in counseling and leading those younger to him that he now knew not what words Círdan waited for him to speak, if he waited for any at all.

Amid his visible grasping at straws, inspiration came. Alas that living such long years among the sea-folk granted him the understanding. "The sea, then. It will remember them, no?"

Círdan nodded, his jaw clenched as he stared into the glow of the hearth. "It will, of what comfort in such I may find. The waters have known them, but to be only heard by the few wise in sea-lore."

Gil-galad lifted his hands in a helpless gesture as he released a sigh. "I know not what you would that I say, Círdan, save that they went not to death without purpose. None of any Elven-city did."

And since first he entered the room Círdan cast down his gaze to the golden bands upon the desk, and a strangely fey glimmer swam across his eyes as he peered deeply into the depths of the cut stones. And untold thoughts of a countless number flashed across his visage too quickly to dissect. In that moment and by his unreadable face, so eerie were his silence and so foreign his regard of the Elven Rings that he looked to be far from the Shipwright of old and Mariner unsurpassed. Though by his shallow breaths and rigid set of his jaw, Círdan remained far from peace, as the ire built up from all hardships Time delivered emanated from his being, all while he quietly regarded Ruby and Sapphire. And his thoughts were not spoken of.

And only when the silence grew to be beyond tolerance did Círdan speak, and his words came in a quiet murmur, as though speaking to himself, but they were easily heard by Elven ears nonetheless.

"Slay ye may be, and slain ye shall be, by death and by torment and by grief," he softly recited with the chill of ice. "A Doom wrought for the Noldor alone, and long have I wondered why accursed the Sindar had to be by the Curse. We walked in Death's shadow and shed unnumbered tears, but the Hither Lands were ours, ours to therein dwell and ours to love and keep." Even under the shadows of the study, his gaze darkened hauntingly. "The lands were ours, only to be invaded by High-elves who brought Doom with them. And for reasons never known, condemned were my kin to fall, and neither friendship nor innocence would spare them.

"And now they suffer for it again," he uttered, his voice dangerous akin to a growl, and the bitterness wrought amid all Ages long passed was surfaced. "The innocent suffer again, fighting battles not their own for purposes not known. Three jewels wrought and coveted, so precious and power-indwelt that for them blood must now be shed. And now Doom and Death seek to come again!"

"Círdan, that is not known," Gil-galad argued.

"Yes, it is!"

If a fleeting thought, Celeborn wondered if the two Elf-lords failed to recall there were further Elves present in the study. He himself felt to be immeasurably out of place, and no councils of old in the Court of his fallen King had ever caused such fleeting desire within him to be elsewhere, to split himself from the company and from the virulent emotions of the conversation laid bare. That such personal thoughts were voiced by these two particular Elves distressed him ever more so, for it was neither in Círdan nor Gil-galad to allow such bitterness to be exchanged. And it was far from the habit of Círdan to let emerge the raw emotions contained within, for the Shipwright had ever been content for long Ages to remain quiet and unnoticed, never vying for attention. And only thrice before in all the years he had known him had Celeborn witnessed Círdan losing hold on his temper.

Celeborn wished to leave, for he felt to have no place here. Círdan was rigid in voice and body with the pain of his people, and livid with vengeful ire in their name. And in his eyes Celeborn was grieved to see the haunting memory of the Sea-elves who had fallen once before under the shadow of Death, under the iron fist of the Enemy and the flame of their first Havens upon the broad capes of the Falas. In was pain shining bright in his eyes, pain deep and inconsolable that Círdan expressed for the sake of his people. Though, the burning rage was clearly his own. And Celeborn easily knew that Círdan was beyond furious that, after all that had been lost and sacrificed, the source that had been the cause of it all remained.

And now, by Gil-galad's words, Círdan knew the hope of being rid of the Three fully and completely was lost.

And Gil-galad, Celeborn noted with sorrow, was equally deep in anguish for the lives fought and given in his name of all Peoples, and was on the verge of placing all measures of guilt on his shoulders for it, no matter how irrational he knew it to be. Círdan would name him a fool if Gil-galad so much as voiced it, as would Celeborn, but so greatly did Gil-galad love his people that he had long labeled them as his glory and no other.

And it was because of all this Celeborn desired to leave. This was too personal for him to be part of. Gil-galad had been raised fully by Círdan, and in quiet company the two exchanged words as few others seldom did, whether the words be kind or conflicting. And he had no place in this conversation, yet he could not leave, lest the two speaking Elves' attention be turned on him, something he wanted by no means. He was satisfied to remain unnoticed, and saw he was not the only one. Elrond looked to be as uncomfortable as Celeborn felt, and with Glorfindel they seemed to desire to uptake the appearance of empty air. Celeborn could sympathize. And, apparently, someone needed to be on the receiving end of Círdan's words and Gil-galad had won the misfortune of being that person.

"Yes, it is," Círdan repeated, and his voice was hoarse with raw emotion. "Irrational was Celebrimbor son of Curufín, and led astray was he by his accursed hunger for perfection. Only a fool would deny it!" He returned his cutting regard to the Rings of Sapphire and Ruby, and his eyes seemed to blaze with the fire of the stars. And his tone of voice then took on a sing-song quality, one of mockery and weary disgust. "Three Races asunder, three Elven Kindreds, three Silmarils and now three Elven Rings. And in the bands of cut stone before mine eyes I see the likeness of Fëanor's Jewels." His grey eyes swiveled up back to those of the King.

"Already," he continued, "for eight long years, war has been fought over the Three, just as came swift the War born from those damned Silmarils. And dare I ask now of how much bloodshed will be dealt in trade of the coveting of these Rings? How many more souls tormented and bodies slain? How high is the new price for precious Noldorin jewels? How many lives will be forfeit for their damned protection? How many people must be sacrificed for the idiocy of one?"

The tension of the air was foul and Gil-galad spoke no rebuttal, for the King knew well that Círdan spoke in the trouble of his heart and that none of his words were for him. Yet such knowledge never halted the resultant anguish he felt, nor did his own silence end Círdan's words. Círdan had every right to speak it, whether it would be deserving or no.

"Or answer me this," the Shipwright went on. "How many lives would have been _saved_ if not for the weakness of your accursed race?" He chuckled acerbically. "The Noldor," he scoffed. "High-elves! So superior in knowledge and wisdom! And yet they have not enough wisdom put together in making a decision that could alter the fate of this land!"

Celeborn felt shock flood his system. "Círdan, you go too far!" Valar, _never_ would he have imagined such words coming from the Sea-elf's mouth, for Círdan loved the High King as the son he had never sired.

"Deny you truth, no matter its unveiled deliverance?" Círdan rounded on Celeborn and, indeed, seemed to take notice of him for the first time. And he shook his head, looking upon Celeborn with a disappointment that had never been directed at him before. "I thought higher of you, Celeborn son of Galadhon," Círdan lamented, the love for his kinsman veiled by frustration. "Nenya has a Guardian, and you uttered not a word against the foolishness of your wife!"

Celeborn was sure to have felt his head spin. He had not expected this. And his brow furrowed as he regarded Círdan in no small amount of alarm and surprise. "I beg your pardon. What is this?"

"Ai Lord of Night, curse me not with ignorance, Celeborn," Círdan wearily entreated. "I know Galadriel bears Nenya. I know Celebrimbor gave it to her. However, I would know _why_ you spoke no counsel to her against it."

Celeborn was silent, and for many differing reasons. Despite that he wondered how Círdan had known his wife had taken Nenya to bear when only the Shipwright's intuition could provide him conjecture on the condition of the Three, Celeborn felt a whole swell of emotions surface at the words. This very subject had been what he and Galadriel had exchanged hostile words over these past weeks, and the Sinda recalled well the moment he had felt the discord of the White Ring within his soul, for he had known of the moment when Galadriel had placed upon her finger the Ring of Adamant, though he knew not what the source of the discord had then been. Only that it had been the same he had felt upon entering the study this night. And though he loved deeply his wife as no other, Celeborn, in all his wisdom and knowledge, had no words to defend her against Círdan's claims, for how could he when he agreed in the end?

"Never was I present to counsel her in anything, for I was in Eregion working to build the defenses," Celeborn answered, amazed that his anger over eight years past existed still so raw. "Ere the war began Galadriel went to the Woods of Lórinand over the Mountains, and she took with her our daughter to keep her safe, for we both knew war was on our doorstep. It was there Celebrimbor traveled to shortly after, and there did he seek her counsel in what to do with the Three." Celeborn looked down with a sigh, willing the resentment within his chest to go away. "In that end, she received Nenya to guard and Celebrimbor sent Vilya and Narya to the King. She counseled Celebrimbor to keep them secret, never to be used or spoken of."

Círdan was incredulous, and the disgust mutually shared between he and Galadriel that Elrond had forewarned the King of was thick in his voice. "And yet, as soon as Celebrimbor's absence came, she did that she counseled him against and used Nenya unto her satisfaction." He shook his head. "Will she never recognize her own foolishness? She _knew_ Celebrimbor loved her, all knew so, and she yet so willingly played on that love to win her the power of Nenya? Such a fool Celebrimbor was that he would have done _anything_ that Galadriel bid him to do! Craft more Elven Rings, and he would have done so. Give to her all of them, and he would have done so. _Destroy them_…and he would have done so." He paused in his ill words and Celeborn saw the genuine bafflement in his eyes. "Ever does your wife pass my understanding. From his first steps in Eregion Galadriel scorned Annatar. And yet, she accepts with yearning a Ring of Power crafted with the skill taught by the Enemy. And now she would counsel _the only Elf who could so destroy the Three_ to let remain the very lust of Sauron in Middle-earth that he may lust after them evermore? Know your lady I do and she would say it was in wisdom, and would she ever seek to gloat of it. Yet what wisdom or logic was there in that?"

Though he again wondered how Círdan could even know such things, so far had they remained from him, Celeborn was torn in his quandary. For though he desired from the depths of his soul to bring honor to his wife, had he not thought the same? And his voice was quiet as he retorted, "There is no evil in the heart of my wife. I put forth to her the same questions you put forth to me. Our words are not yet ended, for in our pride we both are stubborn. But in her counsel to Celebrimbor, she told me there was no reason to destroy the Three."

Círdan huffed in bitter amusement. "Alas that the accursed Noldor prove to be so damned weak," he hissed. "You know as well as I your wife had not the _strength_ to counsel their ruin, as Celebrimbor had no strength to destroy that he held most dear."

"I _know_ that, Círdan," Celeborn spoke in growing frustration. "I know well of Galadriel's ambitions for power. Though she remains great in spirit and mind, that craving is her greatest weakness. And even though she would admit it not, not even to _me_, I know she failed in giving counsel unadorned by longings of her heart."

"And it remains –"

"Círdan!" Gil-galad interrupted, and his eyes were troubled as Círdan returned his attention to the High King. Celeborn looked upon Elrond and Glorfindel in envy, both who remained resolutely forgotten in the corner. "I ask you, make this not harder. I know of your ire and understand it well, for I too have felt it. Let us away from bitter memories and questions that may be never answered. Late is the hour and I would have you not leave on the morrow with a cold wake behind you, not for our words and not for me. We must look to what is to come, for tomorrow shines bright a new day and new destiny."

Silence fell, and though the tension still sizzled, it seemed to lessen ere it remained as but a seed. In the end, Círdan gave a nod of his head, his eyes softening. "Alas that your wisdom exceeds that of mine this night, for few times before have I failed to keep a civil tongue behind my teeth. Yet your words are no comfort, for of it your eyes are without. No matter coming words, I shall depart on the morn deprived of joy, so work not to convince me otherwise."

A wince creased the chiseled features of the King as he closed shut his eyes. A heartbeat passed with him as such while he compressed his lips. "Stay a while longer, my lord," he whispered. And he opened his eyes, their ocean blue glimmering under the candlelight. "I have further words to speak to you – a request to make."

Círdan lifted a silver eyebrow. "What?"

To be continued….

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**A/N:** Earlier in the chapter, I know there might be skepticism concerning Celeborn having these "forebodings", these premonitions as Gil-galad suggested, but know this concept is neither based on a whim nor on my personal partiality towards the Sinda. Canonical evidence supports it, though Tolkien's wording on it remains vague and briefly mentioned. I would be gladly willing to provide an explanation to any who ask, but just know that any conclusions of any characters thus far made are chiefly based on my research on them (and my own interpretation of the research, when needed, of course). As I said, this a canonical gap-filler, and thus, substantial canon is required. But as always, if you have any questions concerning anything, feel free to ask.

Also, in case any are wondering, the depiction of Círdan in this chapter is _not_ the prime example of my characterization for him at all. More Círdan is coming, and his character can be read further in the companion piece I mentioned back in Chapter 1. This was only one part of the complex Sea-elf to me, and I look forward to putting to paper his future appearances in this story. Don't be concerned, for the Shipwright knows he crossed the line with his words. And not to worry, for we have yet to hear Galadriel's side of the story for any of you who are pure-Galadriel-fans.

And in the next chapter…well, you know already what will happen. I can only hope your interest remains piqued enough to continue reading. With that, I would endlessly appreciate any words you have to offer. And thank you for reading. Until the next post….


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** For full disclaimer, see Chapter 1.

**A/N:** And so we come to the third and final part of the conversation in the King's study. Much to some people's pleasure, I am sure, this chapter is rather shorter than average, but of no consequence. As I stated before, the last chapter became too long and had to be divided, and this is the second half, even if only half as long. It gives no bearing on the length of coming chapters, though. I apologize in advance if one or two mistakes are caught, for I admit to not checking over it as many times as I usually do before uploading. And my many thanks ever go to those who took time to review: **Certh**, **Lia Whyteleafe**, **GreenGreatDragon** and **Sadie Sil – English Stories**. Thank you for all your words, including your criticism. Every bit truly helps. Now onto the chapter!

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"Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky…" ~ J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Lord of the Rings_

**Chapter 4**

_A wince creased the chiseled features of the King as he closed shut his eyes. A heartbeat passed with him as such while he compressed his lips. "Stay a while longer, my lord," he whispered. And he opened his eyes, their ocean blue glimmering under the candlelight. "I have further words to speak to you – a request to make."_

_Círdan lifted a silver eyebrow. "What?"_

The foreboding silence after Círdan's soft inquiry stretched on through the time, and in the air tension palpitated ere the heart was felt to beat with it. The gaze of Círdan remained locked on the King in query, and though the quiet of Gil-galad was wondered at, it was remained unquestioned. For though the request of bearing a Ring stayed great in its simplicity, it went on ever difficult in the asking of it. The silence persisted, one Círdan would not break and Gil-galad, again, looked to his herald, his glance unreadable ere he cast it down to the Elven-craft. There they glimmered in their mesmerizing glory as their song echoed all the power unreached of the Ages. Yet the silence remained unbroken.

And Gil-galad drew the breath before the plunge. "For this reason I summoned you," he spoke, his voice strong and eyes bright as he looked steadily into Círdan's. "Time can be not undone and as I hitherto had spoken, I know not of how to undo the make of the Three. Sauron lusts after them, your words are true, yet I would that their location be not inked on a map." He drew another breath and interlocked his fingers, his presence and aura matching in might as that of the Elf before him. "And for such, to give them away is my resolution, to give them into hands that would so keep them secret and safe, guarded from the sentience of Sauron. And as your King and Commander, as your student and friend…." He paused, his voice lowering in growing trepidation, "…as your son and one for you who bears great love, I here ask of you now to uptake the Guardianship of Narya the Great, Ring of Ruby and Fire."

Silence fell yet again, only this time, all energy and intensity looked to fall upon Círdan's shoulders as his answer was awaited. Yet Círdan spoke nothing, for in blatant surprise his eyes had widened, his breath caught and tongue immobile. Though thought was far to be read on his face, no shadow of the study could veil the slight pallor that overtook his visage. Círdan delivered no shout, nor voiced any word, for he merely stared at Gil-galad, his brow furrowed as the lines about his eyes seemed to deepen. And none could discern what more shone in his eyes: the growing disbelief, horror, or anger, for his eyes swam maddeningly with all three.

"What behest has fallen on mine ears?" came the whisper, the syllables falling away amid the crackle of the hearth.

Gil-galad saw in his elder the incredulity and disgust grow, and warily, he held up his hands. "Ere you say no –"

"No!"

"Círdan –"

"I will bear no craft of Sauron upon my finger!" Círdan was livid, and the whole of his countenance was contorted in sheer hurt and disbelief. "However could you ask me to?"

"Peace, Círdan," Gil-galad counseled, and worry was beheld in his blue orbs as he regarded the Mariner. "Sauron crafted not the Three, for Celebrimbor did amid the long absence of Annatar. He so spoke to me it was by his skill they were made and his alone."

"His skill," Círdan scoffed, going to walk to and fro in slow steps before the desk yet again. "Declare did he also unto your ears the lie of his skill remaining unsullied by Sauron's tuition? Seek not to color me otherwise, Ereinion, for before me I sense the foulness!" With an abrupt wave of his hand he gestured towards the Rings. "Let remain to come again the shell of Annatar in all its poison, why do we all not? Upon my finger if so she would lie, shall my Havens then be befouled?"

Gil-galad shook his head, the worry in his eyes growing. "Hear that you say, my friend, and be calm," he spoke quietly. "You know your words to be burdened by your heart, and that you speak is in falsity. You loath the Three, Círdan; this I know and understand well why so, but out of that in his heart, Celebrimbor crafted the Three for purposes of _good_ in all ends. To use your own words, my lord, the Rings _are_ unsullied and no foulness shall be about you as you carry Narya." Gil-galad followed the Shipwright with his eyes, all attention and effort focused on him. And though his eyes blazed bright in their intensity, the soft concern never left them. "I ask this not out of malice, Círdan, but from the heart within me," he whispered softly.

Círdan let go a sigh and all rancor and ill thought seemed to drain from him as he leaned upon the desk, and in that instant he looked to be every one of his many years. "I know you do not," he uttered, and with unnatural quiet did his voice come.

As for the second time in the night, Celeborn felt a shock erupt within him seldom felt before. Though this time, the waves of shock came also with a heavy amount of confusion, for alongside the burning resentment in the Shipwright's wise eyes, Celeborn saw within their fey grey something he had not, by any means, anticipated: fear.

And the glimpse of such fear that would bring down even Celeborn's own heart unnerved the Prince of Doriath beyond his conception. Upon the behest to bear a Ring of Power, Celeborn had prepared himself for a whole possible array of reactions, amid them the ill-concealed ire and incredulity Círdan had thusly emanated. But not fear. And thus was why Celeborn so felt now greatly chilled, for there was nothing of any reason Celeborn could conceive Círdan having the need to feel fear. He, who had witnessed the greatest of sins, had opened himself to all manner of blows to offer safe haven from Evil, had given up in sacrifice much of his sweat and blood with no demand of reimbursement, had lived to tell the worst dealt by Morgoth…he should now have felt no fear. Celeborn was far from the innocent naivety of a child to believe Círdan fearless, yet nonetheless, so hard had Círdan's heart become against the blows over the dark millennia that Celeborn knew not of what horror so great could now be stirred in that hardened heart as to elicit the deep fear he now saw shining bright in Círdan's eyes.

Tantamount thoughts and questions alike looked to cross the mind of Gil-galad also, yet the King let it be. "No malice, Círdan," he uttered in words scarcely audible, his voice tender. "No will to see you burdened, no ill thought in my electing you. Narya _must_ have a Guardian, must be kept secret and safe, and I know not whom else to choose as Keeper."

Círdan lowered his head and straightened from the desk, his movements slow and methodical. Several heartbeats passed in further silence, and when finally he lifted his head, the fear in his eyes was gone, though veiled over only by a mask of deep bitterness and ill contempt. "A Guardian?" he drawled, disgust within his voice. "Must be they borne at all?"

"You speak not sincerely, Círdan," Gil-galad countered. "Far more well than I know you the necessity of the Three having Bearers. For otherwise would you counsel to keep them hidden only, my lord? Where in the deepest of vaults would they remain safe?"

"Think not to test me, Ereinion," he grumbled quietly. "Though I speak in conjecture and appreciate your argument, I understand not why you choose me." He approached Gil-galad and leaned upon the desk once more. "Why, Ereinion?" he beseeched. "Why I when many remain far more willing to fulfill this will of the King?"

"I told you, Círdan." Gil-galad sighed, weary in face of Círdan's imploration. "I know not whom else to choose."

Círdan straightened yet again, his shoulders rigid and his brow furrowed in slight alarm. "With both service and life, many swore to you their fealty, Ereinion. Mean they now nothing, such oaths? A handful more is with you in the closest of confidence. Has such trust now gone? A sad day it is if I am the only Bearer you might find."

Celeborn reflected then that this was the very reason of the importance of punctuality, for the discussion opened anew on the Elves Gil-galad had gradually considered over eight years past. But much to the quiet relief of all present, Círdan waved away the words of Gil-galad ere the High King could even truly initiate the debate of which Elf of many to choose. Círdan knew all the Elves named and knew them well, and by such knew well enough the folly in the end of such a long and arduous discussion. And Gil-galad fell silent, willing himself to remain so as to so force Círdan to have the next word. And all too quickly, he did; only his tone came much more soft and subdued than given before.

"I disparage not your counsel, Ereinion, nor dismiss do I the deliberation you have given," he wearily spoke. But his eyes looked deep into those of Gil-galad, desperate and meaningful, as came his next words. "Yet hear me, my son: A waste it would remain to have Narya on my finger when she may be with one more in need, for no purpose outside of your own exists that I should bear her. She can do nothing for me."

Gil-galad lifted an eyebrow, thoughtful consideration alight in his eyes. "Narya will lend considerable protection to your people," he suggested. "Such was the purpose of the Three Celebrimbor described to me, alongside the healing of land and peace they offer."

And Círdan gave a quick shake of his head, the air about him resolute and eyes shining bright with no hesitation in his sharp retort. "Ever have and always will my people remain under the shadow of Ulmo's hand, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, for they are thusly protected by him and ever have been so since the dawn of Time when we sea-folk first set foot upon the grey shores. To bring forth a Ring of such pitiful power in comparison for the same purpose would be to spit in his face, to wave away with a conceited hand his merciful kindness. _That_ I shall not do."

Celeborn briefly felt that slight exaggeration was played by Círdan at that, but then mayhap not so, for, by the Shipwright's endless praise of Ulmo, Celeborn knew well more than most how greatly Círdan revered and lionized the Lord of Waters. He looked to the King, recognizing as Gil-galad and the others did how quickly had failed this admittedly sound tactic. He could practically see Gil-galad's mind churning away as to discover an argument that would make lesser the resistance in Círdan to bear Narya.

And the King pursed his lips as he speared Círdan with thoughtful regard. "Consider this, then, to convince you, Lord Shipwright. You deny not and, indeed, express greatly the danger to the Free Peoples these Rings present should they be found and delivered into the hands of the Enemy. Should Sauron go to presume three separate Keepers were given to the Three and work to deduce just who they might be, you are the _last_ person any would suspect to bear a Ring, if alone for the abhorrence you hold for them. Idle she may be, yet safe she shall be if Narya is so given into the Guardianship of the one least willing to bear her."

Celeborn glimpsed a brief flicker of uncertainty flash across Círdan's visage and knew immediately Gil-galad had just gained the upper hand. The King had just played on the Shipwright's greatest weakness; an opportunity to keep safe a while longer his own people and those dwelling in Ennor from the Evil of Sauron, for if it meant some of the Dark Lord's tyranny would be contained by keeping secret the Rings, then Celeborn knew Círdan would go to bear all Three. And though Celeborn felt sympathy towards Círdan in how swiftly he was being cornered, the dent in the old Sea-elf's resistance had been made.

All they had now left to discover, Celeborn thought grudgingly, was the reason why he so adamantly resisted in the first place.

And Círdan ran an agitated hand through his silver tresses, the whole of his aging face troubled and eyes no longer unyielding. "I cannot bear this Ring," he whispered.

Gil-galad slowly furrowed his brow as a new concern, far deeper in cause, came to light his gaze. "What is it you fear, Círdan?" he gently inquired.

But Círdan gave no answer and, instead, demanded desperately, "What of Amdír? What of Oropher? If you so look for lords who have no desire to bear that of Noldorin craft, their realms would benefit far more from this offered _protection_ than mine, for so greater in proximity are the Elves of the Wood to Mordor."

Gil-galad shook his head. "Aye, I trust those you named would bear the Rings well, yet you know Oropher and Amdír better than I, yet even _I_ know the Woodland Kings would to it never consent."

Amid his silence and in another fraught endeavor, Círdan sent a meaningful look to Celeborn. Celeborn, in turn, saw and read the look all too quickly and insightfully ere he quickly shook his head, vehement. "I will bring no other source of power near my wife. I fear her resistance to such temptation would be frail."

Círdan spoke naught in return and merely closed shut his eyes, distress lining every contour of his body as the creases of his face seemed to deepen under his growing dismay. Gil-galad leant forward on the desk, his eyes only for the Master Mariner, and his words came slow and ardent, gravity lining every syllable. "If not you…then who?" he asked, repeating Elrond's own words to Celeborn. "Speak your wise words unto me, Círdan! Bid me as you will! Tell me, if you can, for I called here this very night for such a purpose, for your insight. If not you, then who? Whom would you place upon the burden to bear an Elven Ring?"

And still, Círdan's voice was silent. It was so greatly unlike the Sea-elf to leave a question, an important question, unanswered, yet Celeborn knew his kinsman well enough to recognize in him some mental battle waging on, and that he now worked fervently in his mind to reach some unknown assessment. And the deadening silence went on.

Gil-galad narrowed his eyes and he looked not away from the Elf opposite him as he spoke, "My lords, leave us. Elrond, I would speak words with you later."

The three addressed were all too willing to obey. Their steps were swift and silent as they made for the door, none of them once looking back on the scene left behind where tension palpitated in the air. Celeborn made it to the door first and he was swiftly followed out into the nigh empty hallway by Glorfindel and Elrond, who shut swiftly the door behind him. Eying the two guards resolutely stationed on either side of the double doors, the three thought and acted without words to walk a ways down the hall ere speaking, and their long shadows stretched erringly far down the walls as they passed the few brackets. And Glorfindel was the first to speak.

"Valar," he uttered, his voice liberally coated with incredulity and relief. "_Never_ have I heard Círdan speak such words!"

"Nor have I," Celeborn agreed in a murmur. "It is far from him to lose hold so quickly on his dormant temper. Such speaks many words on his distress this night."

"Think you Círdan will take Narya?" Elrond asked, looking in question to Celeborn.

The Sinda shrugged, halfhearted in his answer. "Undoubtedly. You know as well as I there is nothing he would not do for Gil-galad."

Glorfindel huffed in empty amusement. "I would question that claim after tonight."

Elrond sighed. "And I must remain. Until later, my lords." And he broke apart from the small company as to meander about the hall or mayhap keep his time occupied until Gil-galad called him forward again, as bidden.

O = O = O

Gil-galad waited until the door closed shut with a soft echo ere he stretched out his hand towards Círdan and gestured behind him. "Come and join me by the fire, my friend, and let us at least ease our feet of the stress this night."

Two chairs were taken over to the side of the hearth, which remained now as nothing but an ample glow, and both sprawled wearily in their respective seats with Círdan regarding the embers and Gil-galad regarding Círdan. "Speak to me, Círdan," he quietly entreated, any pretense of being a superior that might have been present now gone. "Shut me not out. I am no child to protect from harsh words, even should they come from your lips." Círdan still would not look at him, and his eyes, beyond tired, were dimmed despite the shadows. "Speak to me," he repeated, sadness creeping into his tone. "Let it be heard what troubles your heart. What thoughts so now burden your mind you cannot bear to even look at me?"

Círdan absently ran the tips of his calloused fingers across the worn wood of the arm, and so deeply did he peer into the embers that they might have lit on fire anew. "Three Silmarils were made." The words came so quietly Gil-galad had to strain his hearing to catch them. "Three Silmarils were made and they endured, to be only devoured by sky, earth and sea. What now shall become of the Elven Rings? In the same manner shall the Three be consumed? Shall Vilya be suspended to the airs of the sky? Will Nenya drown in the waters of the sea and Narya burn in the fires of the earth?"

Gil-galad leaned forward, his elbows upon his knees. "Heard you I correctly, I say you speak in haste to suggest your death may come from bearing Narya, or that of any Ring-bearer for bearing an Elven Ring. Danger is there, aye, and much risk, but not suicide."

Círdan directed an unreadable look upon him. "I spoke naught of death, for Death may be just the kindest of fates that may befall you." He paused as he ran a hand over his beard, casting his gaze back to the embers. "Bearing Narya, whereto among the lands shall I go?"

Gil-galad regarded him in slight quandary. "You would go nowhere. I would neither demand nor expect of you to leave Mithlond in effort to bear this burden. The support and strength of arms of Lindon will go with you in this."

Weary was then Círdan's gaze. "And should Sauron discover that I bear her…whereto among the lands shall I go?"

Gil-galad ran a distressed hand over his face. "I know not what to say, Círdan," he sighed. "Should Sauron learn of any who bear a Ring, war would swiftly come, by our will or not. No difference would be made should Narya or any Elven Ring be taken across other lands."

"And yet…."

"What?"

Círdan sighed and lowered his eyes. "Nothing," he spoke, and his words then came with resignation and all the reluctance to be found in the World. "Out of my love for you, Ereinion, I will do as you ask of me. And upon my life and those of my people do I swear to do all in my power to see that Narya remains secret and safe. You need not worry over the Ring of Fire any longer."

Gil-galad's face contorted as though in pain as the whole unbearable weight of guilt compressed his chest. "If you seek to ease my suffering, you fail miserably. How am I to have peace when it is by my insistence and mine alone your days are darkened by that _I_ ask you to bear? Have some resolve, at least, Círdan, to uptake this duty, lest guilt rot me from within."

"Only in dreams do all things come black and white," Círdan offered with a meager smile. "In our world, all is but grey. I have no desire to bear this Ring – seek not to deceive yourself to convince your heart otherwise. It is as it is, and unless my heart changes ere the coming of dawn, it shall remain so. To borrow your words, we must look to what is to come, so leave your guilt behind." Círdan paused and cocked his head, regarding the High King in his forlorn silence, marveling in that moment at how such a great Elf could appear so small. "What becomes of Vilya?"

Gil-galad drew a deep breath, feeling safer on solid ground. "I shall bear her."

"Give her to me."

Incredulity. It was all that was present. "What?" he demanded.

"Give me Vilya," he repeated with slow words, and he locked again gazes with the King. "Already you have given me Narya. I would not have you bear such a burden even as I must."

Gil-galad felt his eyes widen. "Círdan, I will _not_ –"

"Ereinion…." The interruption fell short and Círdan was sorrowful as he looked upon the King, a sentiment not normally seen within the old eyes. And yet now, it shone so bright and strong that such grief belonged with that of the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. "Give her to me," he whispered. "This I say, beware! For Vilya will thieve from you all joy and lay on more burdens and fear than your mind already has and needs. And out of my love for you, I cannot bear to see this happen."

Gil-galad's eyes dawned in realization. "You have seen something."

Círdan shook his head. "Not so," he murmured. "The Sight is dormant this week, much to my relief. I have seen nothing, but I _know_ power and how its kind works. How often is poison concealed by the sweetness of the drink? Vilya may bring protection to your people, and to your lands peace and healing, but what from you shall this Ring of Power demand in payment for it? Believe you truly she shall remain idle unto your soul and mind?"

"And Narya, Círdan?" Gil-galad challenged. "Exempt would you be from the doom you declare? If not so, you would then seek to double it?"

"For you, aye." Círdan's voice softened as he saw the expression upon the young one's face. "I know the memories of your father are few, Ereinion. And though I may never know fully as to why Fingon asked of me to look after you, I did. Though in my foolishness I worked to resist it, you grew on my heart and showed me a love I had never yet felt, as that I suspect lives between a father and son. Though far you remain from me in blood, and though I would have you not forget your great father, you are my son, Ereinion. And my love for you is too great, or mayhap my heart too weak to witness you taking upon your shoulders this burden and the price it shall demand." Even as his sorrow deepened, the beseeching in his eyes greatened. "_Give it to me_, my son. You are King and can be not so diverted. All your efforts must go to your people. Already I am doomed to bear Narya. I shall not break to bear a little more."

Despite his significant age, Gil-galad failed to suppress the lump that rose in his throat. And he had to swallow hard in effort to regain control of himself. This was just as he spoke to Celeborn; it was this self-sacrificing aspect Círdan so greatly assumed that made him elect the Shipwright before all others. He had no selfishness that would risk Narya being given in exchange for his life. Yet still, even all these years later, it was difficult to witness that specific trait directed on him. And though to meet the gaze was tormenting, Gil-galad made himself look fully into the eyes that knew him far too well, eyes that he in turn saw and understood more than most. "No, Círdan," he spoke in a hoarse voice. "Out of _my_ love for _you_, I will do no such thing. And I shall add not onto my guilt by asking such." He took a deep breath, one more in effort to quell the raw emotions that sought to rise. "Though I forget not my father and sire, you, also, are as a father to me. And how can a person ask of his father to do as you demand without hating himself for it?"

He leaned forward and grasped the Shipwright's well-corded hand, feeling the callous of his long fingers. "I elected you, Círdan, because I trust you. You I know better than most, and for that I _know_ Narya will be safe with you, more than any other I could choose. Not in only your silence, but also your strength. With that alone, my mind may be at peace, if only you would have some resolve to bear the Ring of Fire. Call me a lesser king for it, yet still, I deem my judgment to still be good."

Círdan slowly shook his head. "You are no lesser king of greater forebears." A ghost of a smile was seen. "You are your father's son. But come, for we have much to discuss, I deem, as I have many questions on this yet."

Gil-galad gestured appreciatively with his hand. "Ask them and I shall answer."

To be continued….

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**A/N:** Well, the conversation in the study has finally ended, theoretically speaking. In the next chapter we come back to the characters of Celeborn and Galadriel and a rather distressing conversation they shall be having, namely what Círdan had been scolding Celeborn about. And concerning the Celeborn and Elrond ordeal, I haven't forgotten, for more of it is coming. And I have to say that this next chapter is significantly dedicated to **Certh**, since said brilliant writer formerly expressed so much interest in what it will contain. With that, as always, I would appreciate beyond imagine any words you feel inclined to offer, be the good or not so good. Until the next chapter, thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** For fully disclaimer, see Chapter 1.

**A/N: **Not only did this chapter come a lot sooner than I expected, but it came also a _whole_ lot longer. So I apologize if lengthy chapters aren't your cup of tea. The beginning of this chapter (or maybe this whole chapter) may seem a tad OOC to some, though if you can surmise correctly why it would seem so, then you get a cookie. I don't think it is. But then, I'm the writer and don't really get an opinion, do I? I must, again, proclaim my gratitude towards **Lia Whyteleafe** for providing me her insight and opinion on certain things further within this chapter, which provided me a lot of help. I also highly recommend checking out her beautiful stories, as she writes about things seldom touched upon in FFN, at least so far with me. Since you're by now probably telling me to be quiet already, I want to give my endless gratitude to **Lia Whyteleafe**, **Certh**, **Glory** **Bee**, **GreenGreatDragon** and **Sadie Sil – English Stories** for reviewing. You guys are amazing.

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"…and when at length [Celebrimbor] discovered the existence of the One Ring he revolted against Sauron, and went to Lórinand to take counsel once more with Galadriel. They should have destroyed all the Rings of Power at this time, but they failed to find the strength." ~ J.R.R. Tolkien, _Unfinished Tales_

**Chapter 5**

Galadriel's fingers had long ended their fluent stitching of the many Elven-cloths in her lap, though needle remained held and thread interweaved between the knuckles. Long had Celebrían departed for slumber, but Galadriel remained resolutely awake as the hours passed and night lengthened, content to spend the passing time weaving this new cloak. But amid nothing but the silence and crackle of the low fire in the hearth, her thoughts had gradually gone adrift until her eyes were left unseeing of her work. In the end, when realizing the futility in working to keep her focus and dwarfed by the desire to sleep, she had stilled her fingers and, for a long while, looked at nothing until her gaze had been drawn to the window. And it was this that had now kept her rapt – and astonished – attention, for through the frost-covered glass, she could not believe that beheld by her eyes.

It was snowing – still snowing. Well into the welcoming of Spring, the heavens sought still to send down the white flakes of last season. Though unwelcome by most and not too fitting for this time of year, Galadriel came to surmise the cold onslaught was not greatly uncommon for this land, for she had heard by word of passersby how the storms of winter gales often lingered early Spring in those cities upon the western shores. But though rumor was well spread on the abnormal weather sometimes lived by those along the sea, it still left her shocked to witness it herself. It was still snowing when snow had long departed other fair lands further inland. And she felt a brief flash of sympathy for those to be deploying come dawn, be they Men or Elves, to voyage back to their respective homes. On such a cold, snow-bound morning, she greatly doubted it would be any warmer out upon the sea.

But though she contained mixed feelings at the surprising sight of snow, it also coaxed within her bliss and irritation. Bliss because of the happy memories and sentiments stirred within her breast, of what Celeborn had given her under one heavy snow in Doriath, and irritation because her anger towards her husband was slowly diminishing, something she had no appreciation for. She _was_ angry with him, furious some would say, yet no matter her desire to maintain that rage (it took notable effort to fall into such a foul mood, after all), it was gradually but forcefully being worked out of her heart.

For no matter Galadriel's desire to remain furious with him, her anger continually kept being overrun by her relief that Celeborn was alive and hale. For eight years she had been parted from him, a wound more painful than anticipated. And from afar their bond had been left in frailty, leaving her unknowing of her husband's wellbeing. And she had _hated_ that ignorance, hated it so greatly it had seemed to eat her from within. For the whole of eight years, and particularly when throughout Eriador war had erupted, all Galadriel had known was that Celeborn had not yet died, something she was certain of only because her soul had yet to suffer the greatest agony of them all to her – of being severed from one's eternal mate.

And at the deep fear that he might die any day amid the war, of obtaining wounds fatal or shallow, or of suffering something beyond her will to imagine and not _ever_ being able to know, it had almost been the undoing of her self-control. All that had stayed the frantic worry from surfacing and overtaking her frame of mind had been their daughter, for amid their travels Galadriel had ever pressed to remain unconcerned and confident of her husband's wellbeing whenever Celebrían had worried herself. Her father was well and would remain well. She would see her sire again. Valar, how many times she had drilled that very hope into her daughter's heart….

And not once during their parting had Galadriel ever stopped from wanting to send Celeborn her strength, as he had given most of his to her in the birth of their daughter. But alas, though the bond of husband and wife was many things both enviable and awe-inspiring, from afar it was more often than not left as a thread, allowing no strength or support to be conveyed. And all left otherwise known was lost in shadows.

But Galadriel had finally seen him again a few months past, had been taken in his strong arms and had relished the hale sight of him. Tired, but hale, and she could have asked nothing more. And it was this relief that so obstinately tore down the pillars of anger she harbored towards Celeborn. And in further effort to maintain her fury, for in her pride she refused to let it go, she worked to recall the very reasons of her anger in the first place. And those reasons were simple, but deep.

She had happily taken the gift of Nenya when offered by Celebrimbor and had seen the resultant relief in the jewel-smith's eyes at the lessening of his great burden. No, she had not expected any enthusiasm from Celeborn at this decision, but she supposed she had anticipated some form of acceptance. Truthfully, she knew not wholly what she had expected, for in her heart she knew she had given little to no thought upon what Celeborn would counsel or how he would react to her bearing an Elven Ring. But though she had been braced for the Sinda's anger, she had been ill prepared for just how fiery that anger would be. Celeborn had scolded her, something she had returned. And both, in their foolish stubbornness, had let that anger govern their arguments. And over the passing weeks, their words over the subject had grown bitter, their tongues sharp, and compassion had remained far from their thoughts.

Though it might be said the Prince's pride was great, Galadriel's was greater, and Celeborn had been the first to let the anger go, at least to the point where it no longer dictated his speech. And Galadriel felt an ache in her chest at the memory; Celeborn had pleaded with her to be rid of Nenya, to send the Ring with her sisters to the King and let it remain to the judgment of Gil-galad. But she had refused, and the disappointment that came to his eyes as a result had been nearly her undoing – seeing _that_ in his eyes, with her being the cause of it, had been more painful than she had imagined. But despite her choice to take and keep the White Ring, he still loved her. Unconditionally, he loved her.

And _that_ was proving to be the ruination of the walls she had erected from her fury. Though she avoided him during the times they might quietly encounter amid the day, he still held her every night, even though the anger remained ever present in both. Even knowing of the Ring of Power upon her finger, his love for her had never lessened, never been tainted, and the strength of that love overwhelmed her at times when she sought it, when he sent it.

How many times amid her youth, from family and Noldorin kin alike, had she heard she could do better than a Moriquendi migrant? Never mind that he was the revered Prince of Doriath, an Elf among the mightiest of the Sindar and no less in status than her. He was of the Dark-elves and therefore less than she, less than any High-elf come of the West. Albeit such arguments had not been popular, they had remained with her, and amid seldom dark nights she had wondered at it herself. Of all Elves, of all Noldor that would swoon for her and be among her beck and call, it had been a Sinda that had captured her heart. And the potency of it never failed to drown her.

And it was now the snow that stirred such fond memories within Galadriel, took her back to their early, youthful love in Doriath where first they had met. To what Celeborn had given her under the nightly snowfall. To the courtly love he had stretched out over decades ere asking for her hand. Valar, how that Elf had stirred within her such juvenile madness in such time of waiting. He still did, just as it was only he who was capable of stripping her of all she was and projected to the public with just a look, a touch or a word, until she remained as only Galadriel, his wife and now the mother of his child. How could she maintain anger with all this swarming through her mind as mightily as the snow falling outside?

Celeborn entered the room, his footfalls silent and the door closing shut with the barest click. Though she neither heard nor saw him, she felt him enter, felt the nearness of his spirit akin to a warm embrace of her own. She looked not away from the window, but knew he approached her, so harmonious was his fëa she could never bear being without. And soon enough, she felt the sweep of his fingers under her jaw, brushing along her neck; felt his soft touch that still had the power to send fire through her body, that touched her soul even as he touched her skin.

And she closed her eyes, turning into the gentle fingers, as she heard his voice come from above. "Awake still at this late hour?" His voice was low and deep, melodic as when softly spoken. "What musings so deter you from slumber?"

"Glad musings," she murmured, the smallest of smiles on her lips as she went to clasp his fingers with her own. "To one winter in Doriath does the snow send my memory, upon the forest edge in a certain glade." She heard the warm chuckle deep in his chest and her smile grew, for a moment both lost in the fond memory. But she came from her fey daze and sighed, leaning her head against his strong wrist. "Celebrían sleeps. I chose to wait for you."

"You should not have. You need your sleep."

She glanced up at him. "No less than you need yours, for more weary are you than me of late." But she let it be and began tidying away cloth, needle and thread of her weaving, organizing it upon the low table beside her. And a teasing quality entered her tone as she asked, "Was Elrond there? Celebrían seemed rather worried."

There was a pause. "He was." Nothing could be gauged from the two words.

But Galadriel lowered her head further in effort to hide the smile that worked to grow. "And?"

She felt the deep growl emit low in his chest ere she could hear it, and from it his words were dark and rancorous. "I will make him squirm later."

But she laughed at them nonetheless, for she knew her lord too well. Yet the laughter was short-lived as she glanced up again while closing the lid over her linen materials, a gravity in her eyes. "So grave were the words of the King you had no time to speak with him?"

Celeborn's hands fell from where they had rested on her shoulders as he sighed. "This meeting was not as I anticipated."

Something within his voice caught her attention, something unmarked that spoke of some grim surliness. And she looked up at him fully, into eyes wholly aged and bright that revealed nothing. "What happened?"

Celeborn retreated from her as he beckoned with a hand. "Come; let us ready for sleep."

Galadriel bit back her rash impatience at being denied an answer, but followed even so her husband into their quaint but comfortable bedchamber. Behind her she shut the thin door of wood and went to light the few candles strewn about ere closing tight the heavy draperies to ward off the chill of winter air. Celeborn was in the wardrobe, shedding his worn attire for the second time that night and dressing in the lightest of linens for slumber.

And she waited for him, shedding from her shoulders her own robe as she brushed out her golden locks with her fingers one last time. But her seed of worry was not abated. "I sense distress with you, husband. What happened this night? Is trouble within the Court?"

His silver head appeared through the neckline of the undertunic, hair in tangled disarray he absentmindedly swept back. "No state matters were discussed this night," he spoke. "Gil-galad called at the late hour for counsel."

"Counsel for what?" Celeborn sat upon the narrow divan and Galadriel hesitated ere she went to join him.

Celeborn let out a scarcely audible sigh in a way reminiscent of awaiting a coming storm, and Galadriel took note of how he looked fully in her eyes, his gaze calculating and deep, encouraging her to ponder just what his line of thought was. "For what is to become of the Elven Rings remaining, given by Celebrimbor to him."

Both eyes and visage remained inscrutable as Galadriel contemplated that statement. Rather softly, she asked, "He called for counsel on what to do with Vilya and Narya?"

"Aye."

Another silent pause as a poorly concealed sparkle of ire flared bright in her eyes. "And he called not on me?"

Celeborn wearily shook his head. "Galadriel, do away with your anger."

Even amid all her drowsiness and fatigue, it was remarkable how quickly she flew from her seat onto her feet. "I shall be angry!" she seethed, indignant. And though her admirable calm was seen to remain, it was being strongly tested in a way she would never allow to be viewed in public. The first hints of hurt appearing in her eyes, she asked, "What offense have I given that he would so reject me in this matter?"

Celeborn held up his hands in gesture to calm her. "The exclusion of your counsel was not lightly decided," he solaced, his tone of voice reassuring and quiet.

But she heard not his words, so alit was she with righteous fury, and in that Celeborn could cast no blame on her. "Who else was there that he trusted far more than me?" she demanded.

Celeborn sighed, for he knew the success of his effort would be seldom. "Gil-galad deemed it wise, as did I, on keeping this counsel to a bare few, for with us were three others. Elrond, of course. Glorfindel was there and Círdan, also."

Galadriel looked not at all surprised at Elrond's name or at the name of the golden-haired Elf, to Celeborn's slight wonder. A wonder he looked to dismiss rather quickly, for Galadriel understood the heart of Glorfindel as well as a handful of others could and mayhap deduced as quickly as Celeborn had the wise motives for calling upon the Elf-lord's specific counsel, in that he could advise in a way that very few were able to. But at the Shipwright's name, all had changed, for a keen light shone in her eye akin to a white flame as she stared at Celeborn in unfounded bewilderment. "Círdan?" she all but shouted, incredulous disbelief smothering the one word. "Of all people to so receive counsel from in this matter, he would elect his over mine?"

Celeborn shrugged, knowing his next words would produce bitter fruit. "Why should he not?"

In his heart Celeborn wondered then if he had ever before seen his wife in such a fury, for at his words Galadriel grew enraged as she had seldom been before. And in those seldom times, it had been kept in her heart unspoken of and quiet. But no eyes of kin, Elf or Man were upon her now and she looked at Celeborn in mordant skepticism. "Lost you your wits this night, Celeborn? From the West do I come, of wherein the Valar reside and under those whose tutelage I was a student. Long have I lived there and much from therein have I learnt, much of the likes that could be never found in Middle-earth! Of all people in whose counsel to seek, Celebrimbor sought out mine. And the King now dismisses this? In all matters to be possibly discussed, in the one he chooses I have wisdom!"

_And ever would she seek to gloat of it_. Against his will, Círdan's ill words came to probe the back of Celeborn's memory in a haunting melody, but he pushed them aside. He went to speak, but the Lady of the Noldor was looking about the room as though she would find answers, her eyes unseeing of him.

"What foolishness is this of the King?" she uttered to herself. The deep resonance of her voice, once liquid, was now coarse and harsh. "For foolishness it must be if he so refutes…." She turned her attention back to the Sinda, her eyes demanding answers. "Why would he call not on me when I bear Nenya?"

Celeborn shook his head and worked to keep his own voice reasonable. "Little was spoken on it, and so weary was he I went not to press him. All I know in his judgment to exclude you was that it remained far from easy." He accounted it wise to keep it quiet that it had essentially been Elrond who had discouraged the King from doing so.

"Then he is of ill judgment this night, or so weary in mind his logic is closed from him." She clenched her jaw, commendably resisting the desire to start pacing. "Aye, it was wise to number this counsel few, but of the few with who to take counsel with, that he called upon _Círdan_ of all people for this matter –"

Celeborn ended her skeptical words with an upraised hand. And a hard light shone in his eye, one that easily matched hers. "Gil-galad is the scion of Kings, and a match for all his predecessors. You yourself proclaimed before a multitude his greatness. Go you now back upon your own words? He is wise, a good King, and he cares deeply for all his people – a rarity found in few kings this day, be they Elven or Mannish. For all in Eriador he remains as the Star of Radiance, and not even Sauron possessed the courage to challenge him until the end. And now you scold him for being the Elf we have long known him to be? _That_ I would declare foolishness." Galadriel glared at him, her eyes aflame, and he forced his voice to be less harsh and calmer in light of whom he was speaking to. "You are hurt, and I cannot fault you in feeling so. But I spoke the truth, for Gil-galad himself told me this night of how refusing you was done not lightly. And in your hurt you speak your ill regard of the King, and you and I both know so. Sour this night not with hasty words."

A few more heartbeats of the tense silence stretched ere Galadriel visibly relaxed under her husband's potent and meaningful stare as the ire gradually dissipated from her eyes. "You are right, for I am hurt." She raised an eyebrow. "Your Sindarin blood must be affecting me, for I speak in the trouble of my heart now all the quicker."

Celeborn offered a faint smile, but any humor that could possibly be present vanished within a moment and Galadriel's gaze became grave and shadowed once more. She gathered her wits about her and took a deep breath.

"Make no mistake, for I will seek out the King as to demand understanding of this. But since a counsel was called, with a select few apparently attending….What was decreed to become of Vilya and Narya? I have a right to know."

Celeborn raised an eyebrow in turn. "I never spoke you did not. The debate was deep and of such length I shall not repeat it this night. But in the end, Gil-galad decided to uptake the bearing of Vilya."

Concern appeared in her eyes as Galadriel pondered on the words. "He is young."

Celeborn absently nodded. "Aye, he is. But he is decided, for he was adamant about never asking another to bear an Elven Ring for his sake when he would do not so himself."

She smiled a fond smile. "Such sounds as Gil-galad would say. Yet still, he is so young to bear such a responsibility."

Celeborn regarded her steadily. "He is King, and the duties of kingship weigh more than this. No doubt lies within me that he will undertake this task as well as any Bearer possibly could."

"Neither have I any doubt," she agreed. "Yet I would he have not such guilt to uptake Vilya to begin with. But thoughts so noble make him the king he is. What is to become of Narya, then?"

Celeborn could have then closed his eyes in dismay, for with great ease he could foresee what was coming. Yet he did not, and instead wearily spoke the few words in his pragmatic way. "He gave the Red Ring to Círdan."

The ire was back, so greatly that her spirit looked to exude it. "Círdan?" she scoffed, incredulity and skepticism coloring her tone once more. "Has the King abandoned all reason? Of all people to even consider –"

"If he went without it, then I did also," he interrupted tersely, his eyes hard and unyielding. "For in this, Gil-galad has my support."

At him she narrowed her eyes, and in their soft hue there gleamed a shrewd light, still coated with derisive cynicism. "You bring wonder to mine ears as seldom before, Celeborn. You would support in making a Bearer of Círdan when you know as well as I how greatly he is unsuited for it? How greatly he despises power! Goodness knows he made clear such a claim enough to me already."

"Just because he has neither love nor like for power means not he is incapable of wielding it."

"And sooner would a hawk be pierced by arrows ere he learns to evade them." She shook her head, golden hair gleaming under the soft candlelight. "It is not only his derision for power, but for its host in the craft of my kin! This you know, so think not to test me, for how often recall you had we heard within the halls of Menegroth of his lament over the greatest gems to be ever seen?" She chuckled, void of humor, and genuine bafflement was within her eyes. "Sweet Yavanna, spare me such ignorance, for how could anyone in all their reason and wisdom ask someone to wield Noldorin craft who has no understanding of it? In this you cannot deny Gil-galad remains far from sound."

Celeborn stared at her in equal bafflement, though in it he was less genuine and bitterly humored. "Círdan needs not to know Noldorin craft to understand it, for craft remains craft and, as a sword, comes in a many shapes and sizes. What you say may apply to a horse, but not here."

But there were no words of solace and her ire remained far from diminished. The hurt of being shunned now topped with this absurdity went beyond her will to understand. "He is no Noldo," she murmured. "And by this alone, I am offended." Her words were cold and void of compassion, yet Celeborn heard them nonetheless. And ire of his own looked to seed in his eyes as he clenched his jaw.

"No, he is not," he bit out, his patience quickly shriveling. And he gestured with his hands in open and exasperated speculation. "Must you be a Noldo to bear the craft of your kin? If so, then unqualified are you, also, for by your mother you are half Teler. Nay, Círdan is no Noldo, yet alone he remains in who he is. Neither of the Noldor nor Vanyar, he is my kinsman, yet he is no Sinda, nor even a Sea-elf by the very reckoning of my kin in the Elder Days." His voice grew quiet amidst that he was speaking, for seldom before had he voiced this quandary he had long ago accepted to never understand it. "Círdan is of two worlds, a Child of Sea and Shore as much as he awoke as a child beneath the stars. What reasons have you Círdan must be of the Noldor to bear Noldorin craft when you yourself know of where he hails? Truly, is this your only reason?"

"It is one of many reasons!" she seethed, a righteous fury in her eyes that could cow many, yet not him. Yet she was at a loss, for how narrow-minded could her husband be when it concerned his kinsman? "That conceived by the Noldor is strong, so strong even the eye of Morgoth was on us. Yet what strength has Círdan to wield it when he remains prisoner of the Shadow? And he has yet not even faced the true evil of this World!"

Celeborn stood from the divan in a flurry of silver, any trace of exhaustion gone from his eyes even as they hardened as steel. "Stay your tongue at such lies, woman." His voice was soft, yet dark and commanding as only that of a Prince could be. "By him learnt we our plights ere they fell upon us, long ere they even came to our hearing. You proclaim him to be prisoner and yet ignorant of the Evil? Such contradiction…." Slowly and absently he shook his head, his eyes never traveling from her tenacious gaze. And though his tone softened even more in its delivery, it remained far from warm. "Long ago, you and many others told me of how Morgoth had worked not his lies upon the Teleri as he did the Noldor ere came death upon the Trees. Though the Noldor are stronger by the blessing of the Light, never mind that they were the ones to fall for Morgoth's lies, the Teleri are free in all ways of our living. In such, how could you even profess Círdan to be weak in standing against evil?"

Galadriel looked as though she wished to roll her eyes, but wisely refrained from doing so. "I meant not he has no strength to withstand it, yet by looking upon him alone do you know a prisoner he remains. Tell me, Celeborn: How could he be strong enough to safeguard a Ring of Power when by the weariness of his own body he cannot even withstand the marring of Time?"

Celeborn let a moment of silence pass before he spoke, for he was cautious in what he would say, and he was seldom rash in the speaking of his words. But his impatience was proving to be more evident as they tarried with their conversation. "You touch upon a subject unknown to even the eldest of Elvenkind. But to make clear what you just spoke, know this if you must know anything; Círdan is hale and ever will linger so. As I spoke, he is no commonplace Elf, for he is of the Elves who were greater than we have since become, and in his immortality he remains so. It is not his body, but his _spirit_ that has marred with the World, that has aged as Arda has, that has suffered and survived that Time delivered. By Elbereth, you should know this better than most of how this is a testimony to the _strength_ of his spirit, not weakness, for it is so strong that its host can no longer contain it. Would you truly declare such a fëa incompetent to bear and guard a Ring of Power?"

Galadriel was unmoved by the strength and conviction that had grown in his voice. The fiery passion within him so unlike that found in her kin was something that had stirred wonder in her. But tonight, mingled with his ill-concealed ire it was understated. And her voice grew cold from the knowledge that he would seek to test her in such a way. "What you say may be true," she uttered, the words so devoid of warmth, "but even you cannot deny that Círdan has not seen the worst of the World as I have, as many others have! By the Valar, even _Galdor_ would be better suited for this, for of the Noldor remaining he has lived to experience the Darkness."

Even all these centuries later, Galadriel was still not wholly able to conceal the dread and terror that had come upon her as an almighty rain the day when the Light of the Two Trees had vanquished. And in that moment, a part of Celeborn sought to comfort her, but he forced the desire away and his glare remained resolutely trained on her.

"I disparage not what you and your kin suffered at the hands of Morgoth," he began steadily and with composure, "yet you speak in haste, and by your words disparage all suffered by Elves not of Noldorin blood. Was all that followed the Darkening of Valinor nothing, then? All that followed the destruction of your precious Trees immaterial? That I told Gil-galad I now tell you; that Círdan is no stranger to grief. Truly, my wife, your mind must be narrow this night, for how could you even _begin_ to comprehend what Círdan and the Quendi suffered at Cuiviénen at the very hands of Morgoth? What of the Bragollach, of Barad Nimras, of the ruin of Doriath and the Falas? What of –"

Galadriel held up her hands, not demanding or authoritative, but beseeching, for within her breast sentiment too strong to ignore was stirred at the mixed pain and rage in his voice. And she sighed, regretting her ill choice in words. "Forgive me, Celeborn. I meant none of it."

But Celeborn was not swayed. "Then what did you mean? Was the Darkness you experienced, you claim to be the _worst_ of this World so much worse than the thousands of Elves who since have died in Beleriand and Middle-earth? Worse than the Kinslayings we suffered and survived? Worse than the betrayal that felled Gondolin and Doriath? Worse than the very Doom of your kin?"

She shook her head, casting down her eyes for but a moment ere looking fully in Celeborn's, willing him in all his righteous anger to see the truth within hers. "I spoke in haste and meant nothing of that I said, and you know so. But even so, though you experienced it not, you cannot deny how mighty the Darkness was, for you feel the remnant of my fear and despair I felt that day. Those who suffered such woe, whether they despaired or not, are able to stand strong against the mightiest of blows Evil might deliver. And Círdan never suffered it."

"Those who suffered the Darkness means only they could survive the darkest of Evil, not emerge victorious against it. And you need not lecture me on the greatness of the Darkening, for I know well the Aldudénië, even though the song could contain not all the grief and terror that befell that day. But of your words of Círdan never suffering the Darkness…." He fell silent, shaking his head with a sad incredulity seldom seen. "He _did_ suffer it. For so great at times was his Sight that a form of _darkness _came upon him at the death of the Two Trees – a form of slumber that took hold of him as one dead. The Sea-elves and my own people knew not what ailed him, not even Melian. And all of us thought, surely, he must be dying! I grieved, Thingol lamented and all wept until Círdan awoke. None understood what happened thence, until the Noldor came and Círdan made sense of it himself."

Celeborn turned from Galadriel at that moment, facing the dark of the lone window in effort to regain his patience and some calm composure. And only when he did so did he turn back, wondering at his wife's abnormal silence. "I know you take pride in your ability to obtain knowledge on what may come, but the Sight of Círdan goes far and wide; in that he knows more than any, even you, for he also remains deep in the counsels of Ulmo and Ossë. Aye, it is true Círdan spoke harsh words to us this night in evident haste, but…." Celeborn's eyes went unfocused and grew distant as he recalled some memory of something that had happened in Gil-galad's study so shortly ago.

"But?" Galadriel patiently probed, her interest not as genuine as she would have it seem.

Celeborn again focused his attention at her voice and went on. "Though he spoke naught on the matter this night, to us four it was evident Círdan must have foreseen or sensed something, at least, concerning the Elven Rings. When he walked into the study and saw upon the desk Vilya and Narya…." He shook his head, though whether in wonder or confusion none could tell. "I have no words to tell of it. He looked upon the Rings in scorn and darkness was in his eyes. I know not what went through his mind as he saw them and dare not ask. But the words he spoke of them were some warning, such is clear. With such might in his Sight, how could you speak he knows naught of Evil or that he has no wisdom on how to live with it?"

Galadriel tossed her head at such words, impatience of her own starting to form. "Valar Celeborn, I speak not he has no wisdom! Yet you cannot refute he is indeed lacking in a matter paramount as this. Círdan knows nothing of Noldorin craft, and this craft of Rings power indwelt is not to be found else in any place. If peril should be brought for the sake of Narya, to where would he turn to learn of what to do, of what correct action to take?"

Celeborn looked upon her bleakly, his eyes saddened and void of hope. "Alas that my faith in a fellow Bearer of power is greater than yours this night," he muttered. And then his voice rose in pitch once more, strong and confident as ever. "To where would Círdan turn for answers when the circumstances of Narya are most dire, you ask? Despite that my doubt is great such a lapse in judgment would ever come for him, it is a sad day if you know not the answer already. For do you recall in Doriath upon the wall in the nearest eastern hall a painting with a frame of white beech?" A slight frown appeared between Galadriel's eyes and he explained further, unsurprised she was unable to remember. "It was a painting more often than not hidden in shadow, painted by the Sea-elves long ere I was born. Its image was simple, and yet spoke so greatly on the foundations of where Sea-elven loyalty and faith lay: For a lone Elf with no name, unclad and destitute, laid curled in upon himself on the shore, stripped of apparel and dignity. And though the water sweeps along the sand and his body, his head is bowed towards the sea, his faced turned towards it, not away from it." Celeborn lifted his hands in quandary to her, his own brow furrowed in intense concentration. "See you not? Even when all else is stripped away, strength forsaken and dignity forgotten, the Sea-elves remain ever under the wing of Ulmo and keep faith in his guidance. If all his people are as so, then Círdan himself is the epitome of such. More than you could imagine is his reliance upon the Sea, and by such his wisdom goes beyond the depths of this World. It goes beyond yours, by age and experience alone, and you know it."

Galadriel looked ready to speak, for her breaths came forcefully steady and deep and her eyes were kindled bright with the fire of a star, but such warmth was not warm in itself. Seldom did she regard Celeborn as so, but he ignored it with all the ease in the world and pressed on, visibly grasping for the right words to speak.

And he felt to have found them. "I know not what…connection Círdan shares with the Sea, with the powers of it or however he might term it. But he has been raised up in the teachings and instructions of Ulmo, who goes beyond this World. So, if you have no trust in Círdan to bear with prudence this Red Ring," he ended in bitter sarcasm, "then you can at least trust Ulmo to tell his subject what to do with it, if such a time would arise."

The silence that followed was deafening and so tense it was felt that the smallest whisper might break it. Two sets of willful eyes looked into the other, both strong, both aged greatly by memory alone, and both averse to stepping back first from the dispute. The wax of the candles melted and hair both silver and golden dimly gleamed in the minimal light. Neither moved nor looked away, nor even blinked.

But then Galadriel sighed, her eyes still unyielding, as she turned away from Celeborn, though remaining far from diminished in resolve or stature. And the ire so visibly being controlled in her body was not heard even the slightest as she spoke, "What did Círdan say in response to this request of the King?"

Celeborn was grateful for the change of topic, so greatly did he loathe their bitter exchange of words. "He was displeased," he answered, relaxing in posture. "He was greatly angered to know the Rings still exist and had no compunction in letting us know it."

"Unsurprising."

"But when Gil-galad asked of him to bear Narya…." He shook his head, his eyes cast down. "He was angered still, but more than such he was afraid. Why, I fail to fathom. He worked to hide it, but in his eyes I saw it. He was desperate for the King to seek another solution."

Galadriel huffed in mocking amusement. "His heart is stone and yet it trembles at the thought of bearing a Ring of Power."

Celeborn clenched his jaw, his eyes shining bright in their renewed fury. "Was it with a heart of stone Círdan befriended the Noldor?" Galadriel turned at the suppressed anger in his voice and he nodded. "You never knew this, had you? In the Noldor's Exile, for you and your kin Ulmo had pity; this Círdan told me and that he was asked by the King of the Seas to befriend you, to find in you the good and greatness that so many Sindar would quickly look past. Think you not he had received word of the ill tidings of Alqualondë by way of the Waters? Never had you wondered why Círdan had not such rage for your kin as Thingol did? Never wondered you why he took Gil-galad under his wing and _loved_ him, the scion of the people who slayed his kin?

"Elbereth!" he raged as his patience came to an abrupt end, and his voice was tempered to just below a shout to save waking their daughter and neighbors. "Where is your wisdom this night, Galadriel, or even your common sense? So great is your malcontent for Círdan that you remain blind to the wisdom of the High King? Your feud, _whatever_ it is, blinds you to the good found within Círdan. You speak such untruth of him only out of your anger! For on what solid grounds stand you to declare him incapable of bearing this Ring? Give your answer….Or have you none? You are enraged with righteous fury this night only because your pride was not sated. Of what to do with Vilya and Narya, the King requested counsel, and of the first of Ring-bearers you were not called upon to give it, thus your fury with the King. And I dare not seek what poison lies between you and the Shipwright that you have such bitter words for each other!"

Galadriel matched him in his fury, and before the Sinda came an image of an incensed lady that she would never have the lack of control to present to any other. "So you admit to him having ill words for me, also?" she demanded. "Words he had no reason to scorch me with? What spoke he of me at the counsel, husband? For surely, my name was mentioned at some point."

A muscle along Celeborn's jaw jumped. "Nothing I have spoken not to you already."

A sparkle of genuine hurt appeared in her eyes, but more than that, the anger continue to grow to impossible heights. "And you would defend me not against his words, your own wife?"

Celeborn sighed wearily, working to stay his hot tongue. "Defend against what, my sweet? He spoke naught I had spoken not to you already, nor said he anything with cause for me to defend."

Galadriel chuckled acerbically, the sound so bitter and foreign coming from her throat. "So may I then assume he voiced his doubt in my competence to be a Ring-bearer? Surely, he would say something along such."

Her words struck him as a piercing blow as though she had struck him physically, and a hurt so great was seen in his bright eyes that she had never witnessed before. And his words came quiet and uncertain. "You believe I would defend not my wife's strength, the strength all know she possesses to perform the task of bearing a Ring? Heard you nothing I have spoken? Círdan spoke naught on your ability to bear a Ring of Power, only at the foolishness at bearing one in the first place."

"Foolishness?" she all but shouted, offense driven deep in her breast. "You would contest not even such?"

Celeborn shrugged helplessly, suddenly exasperated. "How could you demand I do so when you know I agreed with him? For it was as if he had taken from my tongue the very words we had spoken these past weeks."

Galadriel shook her head once more, incredulous with mocking amusement. "Kinsmen most certainly are you and he, then, for you both shake in fury at my being a Bearer."

"Oh for Valar's sake, Galadriel," he nearly spat. "I am angry not at _you_ for being a Bearer, but rather at your reasons for taking Nenya!"

She gave a wearisome sigh. "I told you my reasons," she spoke in exasperation. "The Elven Rings will provide concealment for all within the reach of their power, just as Melian protected Doriath so greatly from any reach of Evil. Would you want not for the Elves to have such security again, to be kept hidden from the eyes of Sauron as never before? And then so much _healing_ is needed in this Land! For such the Elven Rings will provide aid, will provide peace to those who need it and comfort to those who seek it. For all the goodness the Three so freely offer, how could you fail to see the wisdom in _not_ destroying the Three?"

Celeborn had shaken his head as she had spoken, though not in refutation. "Never spoke I it was in vain to keep the Three from ruin. If the Valar have truly not forsaken us or Eru forgotten us, then some good, some _true blessing_ will come of the existence of the Elven Rings. If they turn the tide for a life or for a soul, then their purpose is great. But," he added more strongly as she went to speak, "how could you deny your decision to take Nenya was never in haste?"

Galadriel sighed again, pure, exasperated annoyance creeping into her tone. "Now on this subject again, are we? I told you again and _again_ I placed much thought on my counsel to Celebrimbor."

"Did you?" he challenged, his eyes darkly narrowing. "Ever considered had you that when you took the White Ring Sauron just might come again, to repeat the war we just suffered so greatly? Aye, there is greatness and wonder and blessing in the Three, but with them is peril and danger as well! For who would have thought from such crafted gems could come such treachery and evil?"

Galadriel's visage grew dark, and her voice was hauntingly low. "The Elven Rings are not the Silmarils."

"And yet how could you declare their fate would be not the same?" he demanded. "For the Jewels of Fëanor look at how much blood was shed! Who is to say it may not come again?"

"You speak as Círdan," she mumbled darkly.

"I speak with the voice of experience," he hissed. "Aye, I know there to be good in wielding the Elven Rings –"

"Then why are you so set against my bearing her?" she yelled in vexation.

"I can feel her, damn it!" Lightning might have shone then in Celeborn's eyes. "I can _feel_ Nenya brushing against my soul as much as you are bound to me. Believe you I like my wife adorned now with something so foreign? Nay, you are not mine to command, but even I was _astounded_ how you would so seek to deceive me!"

Galadriel was aghast. It was seldom Celeborn raised in anger his voice towards her, for their bond of love was great. Yet his deep timbre positively resonated with a wrath she had never before heard, or at least never heard directed at her. For interwoven in his voicing of wrath were the poorly concealed notes of deep hurt, the kind of hurt that reached to the very core of the fëa. Yet in her stubborn pride she would not allow him to be so mistaken, and so she pushed his hurt aside. "I deceived you in nothing," she instead spoke.

Celeborn chuckled astringently, the sound bitter and harsh to her ears. "Then have you been so deceiving yourself? You give me all these reasons and excuses and explanations for taking Nenya. I disparaged not one and knew you spoke the truth with all of them, and for the good of the Free Peoples I am content. But excuses they remain, and even today you attempt still to brand them into my mind!"

"Where is this deception you speak of?" she demanded, now fully at the end of her patience. "I spoke the truth to you!"

He shook his head, disappointment mingling with disgust. "I know you did, but not all of it. And I _tire_ of the deception you keep working to feed me, of the main reason why you had never refused once or even hesitated to take Nenya."

"What nonsense is this? I would never do such to you!"

Again, he chuckled bitterly. "And another lie, for these past weeks it is all you have been doing. I _know_ _your heart_, Galadriel, as well as I know my own. Always, you will _say_ as a wise man would in why you took Nenya, and mayhap it is all true, but it is not _all _there is. Know we both of your desire for the power of Nenya therein, and now you would pretend I do not? Stop lying to yourself and speaking such falsities unto mine ears, for you cannot lie to me!"

Galadriel turned away from his potent gaze, for the unbearable hurt within it was nearly enough to be her undoing. "That is not true," she spoke softly, but to her dismay, her voice had a tremor. "I took not Nenya for that you say, but for the good of taking her."

"And yet you fail to look me in the eye when saying such words. Of course Nenya was desirable – a reason existed for why Sauron scoured and burned Eriador in search of them during this war. And for you, through Nenya was granted the perfect opportunity to have Valinor in Middle-earth, a yearning you spoke of with me one too many times."

She gestured wildly in the air, her tolerance at an end. "Is yearning for Middle-earth to be as Aman a sin? To have the bliss and peace of the Elvenhome? What wish you for me to say? I was _wrong_ to take the White Ring?"

"Nay, my wife, just only the truth," he practically pleaded, a hand held before her beseechingly. "Just speak it once, Galadriel: _I wanted the Ring for me_."

Silence again fell, one as great and deafening as the last, and for a long while neither spoke. But Celeborn sighed in complete weariness, looking to deflate from all the ire that had built over the course of this long night, and he appeared then as tired, terribly tired.

"Just admit it," he besought, his voice coming now softer and quieter, even though the hurt remained in his eyes. "You know it and I know it, so why continue this lie? Believe you I am so ignorant of you, of my _own wife_ that I would remain blind to this secret motive for taking a Ring of Power? Aye, mayhap it is all for the good the Three remain. And if Nenya had been first taken to Gil-galad wherein _then_ he asked you to bear her, I would have given little argument, save for the burden it would place upon you. I love you, and that you could not even _resist_ taking this Ring frightens me more than you can imagine."

Galadriel's voice came unnaturally cold at such. "Sauron will never learn I bear her," she warned. "I know the dangers of this and will wield Nenya with wisdom!"

"I never spoke you would not. But seek will you to lie to me, even now, of the deeper reasons why you took her? If you are so sure on never deceiving me, Galadriel, then, Elbereth help me, _look_ me in the eye and tell me you had no motive to bear Nenya other than to keep her safe, no _thrill_ at the thought of personally wielding some of the greatest power to ever come in craft. Look me in the eye, tell me those words and I shall believe you and remain silent."

Galadriel looked upon him in something of wonder as realization finally came to her. "This is what upsets you so greatly?"

"Yes," he forced out. The one word had come from his throat, so wretched and pain-filled and his eyes looked to erupt with the hurt that the sight worked to rent her heart. "Work to deceive someone else if you must, even if it was Círdan, but not me. Have you so little thought for me that you believe I would love you less if I learned that I already knew? I knew who you were the day I married you, and never have I regretted it."

"It is now in error to recognize the greatness of power?" Though she asked the question, there was scarce conviction within it.

"End your putting words in my mouth, for I spoke no such thing. But you cannot deny that the less you use power, the greater it will be – remember this, at least, when bearing Nenya, my love. I would break to so see you come to danger by failing to resist the temptation to wielding Nenya in all her glory."

She lifted an eyebrow in surprise. "Believe you me to be so weak?"

Celeborn again sighed wearily, looking upon her in disbelief. "What is this, Galadriel? Speak I now with a fool? For you rage only on and on at my words, and understanding remains far from you. I _never_ have thought of you as weak. But you took Nenya without hesitation. Who is to say it may not happen again?" Galadriel spoke nothing and Celeborn bowed his head, recognizing within her that any and all ire had gone, and so he forced his own to fade away as well. "I grow weary of this. But if anything, Galadriel, end this lying to _me_, for it breaks my heart that you feel you must do so."

"Celeborn, I never –"

"No more." She was apologetic certainly, but he was truly tired of it and wanted to hear nothing further. "No more. Let this be ended. Come to bed with me." He held out his hand for her to take, when he would then take her to their bed where they might finally fall to slumber.

But in the holding out of his hand, Galadriel saw in the action a wholly different meaning, as she was meant to. Would she take his hand and therein take part in forgiving with him all the words that had been exchanged this night, and over the few bitter weeks past? To finally let end this quarrel and leave it wholly in the past? Or in her own stubbornness and pride would she refuse the hand and press on so that she might just one day be victorious in this long and enduring argument over Nenya, until she had finally made Celeborn see some sense, to see what she had seen when Celebrimbor had come to her with the Three eight years past?

Valar, had it truly been eight years? So long ago it now seemed, and yet the two paths before her warred within her. She still had much to discuss with Celeborn on what was spoken this night, on what he had solely spoken about. And goodness knew that this quarrel would not be the last over the burden of Nenya, for she was now a part of Celeborn so much as she was a part of her Keeper. She was ill pleased with her husband this night, and anger both just and righteous still simmered low in her breast. And to do as Celeborn asked of now without words seemed as surrender, a deed so foreign to her that it was unthinkable.

And yet, against her will, she remembered the fear that nearly had torn her apart while he had been away at war. She recalled the unspeakable joy at finally laying sight on him once more, when she knew not with certainty if she would ever again be able to. She remembered being taken and held in his strong arms, the feel of his love, his scent, of laying upon their bed to once again renew their bond, of hearing him laugh, of seeing him smile, taking his lordly command, of being the Elf she had always known him to be…She remembered everything she had been so afraid of losing in the war and thereafter being without. And at such dark memories, she looked into Celeborn's eyes and took hold of his outstretched hand.

To be continued….

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–The _Aldudénië_: a song composed by Elemmírë of the Vanyar that told about the Darkening of Valinor. I know there are many references to the _Silmarillion_ in this story that aren't expanded upon in my notes, but if you have any questions over anything, please ask.

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**A/N:** Contrary to what some might think, this is not the end of some things in this chapter. In the next segment, Celeborn shares a few words with Círdan on what exactly he spoke about his wife in the study, and the center of where this feud between Shipwright and Noldorin lady comes from will be touched on in the last chapter, which, if all goes to plan, ought to be Ch. 7. But as for now, I'm exhausted just from writing this.

I think it goes without saying just how greatly I would appreciate it if you took just a small amount of time to review. I promise, I'll give you as many viral cookies as I can. :) But please, if you can, do review. It truly means more than words can say, at least for me. With that, thank you reading and taking such interest so far into the story, and I will hopefully see you again in the next chapter. Please review!


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** For full disclaimer, see Chapter 1.

**A/N:** I'm taking a small liberty with my creative license in this chapter just a tad (and it barely holds any importance), and that is through suggesting that the Sea-elves retain their own dialect as the Wood-elves do. This is not directly supported by canon, but Tolkien repeated stated through several sources how the Sea-elves were in many ways distinct from all other Elves, in the way they lived to how they sang to their customs. It's not so farfetched to believe that as Primitive Quendian transformed into Sindarin, the Sea-elves remained distinct in that aspect as well. I state this theory of mine only in case people opt to question it later. With that, as ever, I would like to express my never-ending gratitude to **Certh**, **Lia** **Whyteleafe**, **Sadie** **Sil – English Stories**, **Oleanne**, **Glory** **Bee**, **AntiCreator** and **GreenGreatDragon** for reviewing the last chapter.

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"But as for me, my heart is with the Sea…" ~ Círdan, _Appendix B_

**Chapter 6**

Slow went the passage of Time in the deepening of the night as the soft snow fell with no seeming end. Yet Celeborn lay awake in their bed upon his back, the comfort of the mattress and feathered pillow feeling as bliss to his wearied body. But sleep remained far from him, no matter how greatly he wished it would not, for his thoughts remained awry and kept active his mind against his will.

With him lay Galadriel, her head upon his chest and arm draped across his abdomen. Dimmed and glazed over were her bright eyes, and Celeborn could feel her soft breasts compress against his side in harmony with her breaths that came steady and deep. She was fast asleep, something the Sinda now greatly envied.

They had not lain as such upon first retreating under the sheets, for after she had taken his hand an awkward silence had followed and had grown unbearable as they lay upon their backs with a gulf of the mattress between them. Such silence and separation had not initiated the path to forgiveness, to forgetting, and so Celeborn had reached out to her. And she had immediately responded, as though waiting for such an action on his part, and she had curled up next to his side, legs intertwined, obtaining comfort in the warmth of his body, and resting her head upon the chest she never tired of running her fingers over. No words had been spoken or looks exchanged. Galadriel only had once craned up to lay a soft kiss long on his neck ere lying back upon his chest and Celeborn had simply run his fingers through her golden strands, the rhythm steady and soothing, until she had swiftly slipped into slumber.

The memory of their bitter exchange of words was still fresh with them, yet neither could bear the estrangement from their mate, for so against the wont was it of those bonded. His soul was bound up with hers, as hers was with his, and as she needed him, so he also needed her. Estrangement helped no one. But bitter had this night remained, _all_ of this night, and Celeborn grew angry at his blatant inability to just forget and sleep. For he was tired, so very tired that he surmised the fatigue of war must be lingering with him still. Yet, no matter his weariness, his thoughts raced and sleep evaded him.

And so he rose from his bed, disentangling himself from his wife in the process as gently as he could. But Galadriel stirred nonetheless and blinked up at him with tired, half-closed eyes as he tucked the coverlets about her.

"Celeborn, wha-?"

"I stay awake," he whispered. "I go to walk and will return later. Return to sleep."

She nodded, relaxing her body once again as she sighed, quickly returning to slumber. With as little sound as he could, Celeborn dressed himself at least somewhat decently in case of the happenstance of coming upon another Elf. And to cover up any remaining possible indecency and as shelter from the cold, about his shoulders he wrapped a cloak lined with ermine fur and slipped on his boots. Entering the anteroom, he checked on his daughter once ere he left, peering through the door left ajar at her silver head, the covers pulled up to nearly her nose, and he gave a soft smile, endeared that some habits from childhood remained with her still.

As it was, he met no one amid his leisurely walk through the halls, save for the occasional guard. He thought of nothing and everything, his mind circling endlessly with worries, questions, and memories he had no desire to ponder on any further this night in place of sleep. But his brain thought differently. So Celeborn made his way upwards, ascending many a staircase in effort to find the one that would lead him to the roof. He cared not if it was snowing. He wanted to lay sight on the stars, where he might thereby receive their comfort.

Never before had Celeborn marked upon how alike a labyrinth these great hallways of Gil-galad's were, so much akin to the complex layout of the Grey Havens further along the firth of Lhûn. But Celeborn found his way, taking swift steps down the final dark passage, nodding to the lone guard stationed at the cordon door ere pushing out the thick planks of wood and iron. Flurries of snow came flying in as the chill of winter air immediately bit at his skin. Tugging the cloak closer about his shoulders, he began to make his way up the stairs as he glanced up at the sky.

Though veiled by heavy clouds that rained the snow, in places the stars still shone visible and bright, and to him solace was granted. Galadriel had always doubted this method of his by how to find relief and peace in times of woe and trouble, but she had been raised up to love and love only the Light of Telperion and Laurelin, the only lights to have been loved. But the stars…the stars belonged to Celeborn and his people, his kin who had long recognized their constancy as pinpricks of fire filling the darkness with order and light. They were the sentinels and had been engraved as so in the hearts of the Elves since their Awakening, long before any Tree could ever make its mark in Elvenkind. So Celeborn was solaced and his thoughts calmed to where he now might be able to lay them to rest, just for the night.

Celeborn swept past the last steps of the stone stairway to the wall walk that ran all about the roofing of the mighty Citadel with a stone parapet of a meter in height on either side, the stones being the best the quarries had to offer from the Ered Luin and the grout between the stones impossibly solid and strong. And massive buttresses were built all along the corners, of within were warmly lit braziers. Celeborn cast a cursory glance about as he began to stride along the broad ramparts, taking note of those among the Elven-guard in the distance that walked atop the wall walk in varying places. But as he turned to look east, Celeborn halted in his steps as he did a double take.

It seemed Gil-galad and Círdan would go without sleep this night also, for there they stood along the far wall, dimly silhouetted against the moonlight. Still arrayed in the attire to in last be seen, both Elves stood closely together, close enough for an embrace to commence with no shifting of feet. So great and fair was the King that, in his relaxed posture alone, Gil-galad simply radiated his renowned eminence and grace. His hair gleamed midnight under the Moon as it fell down his back, strands blowing soft in the wind. In the company of Círdan, Gil-galad had shed his donning of power and majesty as he would for no other, retreating to the simple and unburdened shell of a child before his parent. But even then, the potency of his kingly venerability could be not hidden. Any of his subjects would still bow before him, for there was no guise behind which Gil-galad could hide that would diminish his kingly stature.

And Círdan beside him, in his great height, stood tall over the Noldo, significantly taller. His silver hair gleamed white under the light of the Moon, so white to be of mithril hue cascading down his back, too bright to withhold for long and too tangible to ignore. His hair still remained unbound from the standard sailor's knot undertaken out at sea and the apparel upon his lean frame was speckled with snow.

So shocked was Celeborn to see them that he merely stood there for a moment, entirely dumbfounded. Were they still speaking from when he had left the King's study hours ago? Of what might they still talk? Celeborn could hear none of their words and doubted he could even within hearing distance. For in their quiet conversation Celeborn believed wholly they spoke not Sindarin but the language of the Sea-elves, a language foreign to his ears as it was as secretive as the dialect of the Wood-elven folk beyond the Mountains. Out of necessity, Gil-galad had learned it amid his childhood, just one more scrap of evidence that Gil-galad remained great among a people who had retained customs and lifestyle of their own, remaining as far as could be from the other Elven Kindreds. Of the two, Círdan was speaking, resting a hand upon the Noldo's shoulder as he did with his head bowed intimately close.

Celeborn thought to retreat at the sight, for by their body language alone, this was no conversation to be either heard or witnessed by any person, so personal and deep was it. And Celeborn had no desire to intrude. But ere he could turn his feet back to the stairs, his attention was caught as Círdan suddenly pulled Gil-galad into a hug that lasted for several long moments, a hand resting upon the King's dark crown. And when released from the tight embrace, Círdan kissed Gil-galad on his forehead and spoke a few more quiet words that Gil-galad slowly nodded to ere placing the Shipwright's fingers against his own lips. To each other they gave a light bow and the King left the Shipwright upon the ramparts as Círdan watched him go.

Celeborn watched him go for a time, also, ere turning back to the Shipwright, whose back was upon Celeborn as he leaned along the wall, looking out in the distance. Celeborn hesitated before approaching his kinsman and did so swiftly, wondering when Círdan would acknowledge his presence, for no matter how quietly he walked, he had never been able to remain undetected by the Mariner.

But as he came into hearing distance, Celeborn nearly halted in his steps again, for Círdan was singing to himself, a soft melody that hummed low in his throat, a sound echoing endless interchanging melodies woven in harmony with the night. It was beautiful, ethereal, and song Celeborn knew to be not of this World, but rather in it. So this is what he sings, Celeborn thought in wonder, for Círdan never sang, at least never in the hearing of a multitude or even small company. So seldom before had Celeborn heard the soft Sea-elven voice that it stirred in his memory the earlier years of childhood amid his visits to Eglarest, of being sung to sleep by the voice that turned the endless noise of the sea from the balcony into the music of its creation. It was a wonder to now hear it again.

But as Celeborn stepped up beside him against the low wall, the soft humming ended and all was silent, even more so amid the snowfall. He looked up at his kinsman, for Círdan stood much taller than him also, but Círdan neither looked nor spoke to him, nor in any way showed that he recognized his company. Since Celeborn had no notion as to whether or not his presence was even welcome, he opted to find out.

"The Ainulindalë is still great with you," he softly spoke, keeping his gaze cast to the far lands beyond. "You spoke the truth when declaring one might learn the Music if he so works to listen first."

Círdan looked not to have heard his words, for his attention was only for the far horizon, his gaze tired and soft, yet attentive. He took no notice of the snow falling or of the soft strands of silver-white hair wafting across his face. Celeborn gathered that his kinsman took also no notice of the cold, for his lips were nearly colorless and his long fingers frostily white amid the icy air.

"The night is cold," he tried again. "The deployment of fleets will go with no blessing of spring air, it seems, though I pray with fair winds."

Still no response. And Celeborn wondered to where Círdan looked, or what he looked at. One of the greatest cities of Gil-galad's Kingdom was before them, an epitome of Elven society, and beyond were the shores of the Lhûn. But too dark was the night and too disturbed was his sight by falling snow that Celeborn failed to make out the sight of sea or harbor. Though he supposed he could spy a hazy outline of the masts of many ships moored along the quay. Yet none of this answered what held Círdan's rapt attention, unless he looked beyond that he saw. Mayhap, Celeborn wondered, he looked to Mithlond out of his heart's calling to return home. Or mayhap he worked to be engulfed by the distant sea, as was his wont in quiet moments. Or mayhap not. Celeborn could never really tell.

"You do not sleep."

Celeborn glanced at him, lifting an elegant eyebrow. "Nor do you."

Círdan still evaded his gaze as he went on in his softly spoken words. "What so deters you from slumber? You are weary."

Celeborn gave a faint grin. He had asked his wife the same, though their answers could be no further different. "Many thoughts keep me awake. Much has lately happened my mind refuses to dismiss, it seems."

Círdan looked to him, then, and a sparkle was in his eyes, though no smile was upon his face. "So great are these thoughts that happenings may be by them altered, or remain they idle in their worth to the present?" Spoken now in soft, rustic words, Celeborn could catch the sound of the liquid accent of the Sea-elven dialect. Círdan's Sindarin was flawless, but made beautiful and ethereal by the soft echo of the language retained by his people.

But Celeborn only allowed his slight smile to grow in wryness. "To this day I remain stunned by how swiftly with few words you make me recognize my folly. Nay, my thoughts are those I refuse to let go."

"You were ever a stubborn one," Círdan grumbled, looking back out to the Gulf.

Celeborn prudently glanced in the direction to where Gil-galad had disappeared. "How fares Gil-galad?"

"Your eyes were upon us," Círdan spoke in his gruff way, neutral in tone. "You know."

Celeborn shrugged. "I saw much, but presume little." He cast a worried glance at the Shipwright. "Is all well with the King?"

At last, a reaction, though so slight it might have went unnoticed had Celeborn been not looking for it. The keen brightness of Círdan's eyes had dimmed as they glazed over, unfocused for a brief heartbeat. But within his voice was no sliver of sentiment tantamount as that seen otherwise as he spoke, "He distressed at my words this night."

Celeborn followed with another slight shrug. "Can you fault him for it? Whether spoken amidst passion of your heart or no, your words are taken far more seriously than you appreciate, I believe. And Gil-galad weighs your every word."

Though in face he remained gallingly impassive, the eyes of Círdan were grieved. "In his own heart I evoked despair, of which he told me only once I brought him to the roof. So blinded was I by anger I failed to see?"

Celeborn scratched his nail upon the stone, absently observing a flake of snow land upon his skin and melt. "As I spoke, your words are never lightly heard by any, and those who would dismiss them would let rather woe befall them, I say. Many are foolish."

Círdan sighed, diminishing ever so slightly in stature. "As proven to be had I this night, for too old I remain to let govern my heart over my tongue."

Celeborn looked fully to him then, his gaze soft in its query. "Regret you what you spoke?" he asked quietly.

Círdan lightly pursed his lips and shook his head, continuing to keep his gaze on the dark horizon of a blurred coastline. "Not for that I spoke, but rather for speaking it. It was painful to see Ereinion fear in result of my words. Very painful."

Celeborn lifted his eyebrows in worrisome disbelief. "Your words tend to be powerful. Is there anything to fear?"

Círdan slowly nodded, solemn as could be. "Aye, there is, for alas, I could offer him little comfort. None know what sacrifice may befall us in sake of the Three. Ereinion knows the risk of their existence, but it eases not the burden in his heart that has now grown heavier in his commitment to wield Vilya."

Celeborn caught his breath and, in a glance rather surreptitious and with no movement of his head, he cast down his eyes to Círdan's still hands resting upon the stone parapet, wondering on which hand Narya had been placed, if the Ring had been placed on a finger yet at all. Though if Nenya served as any example, he knew Narya would remain invisible to the naked eye no matter how closely he looked, yet his curiosity probed at him.

But when he looked back up, he nearly startled to find Círdan's eyes steadily trained on him, no thought or emotions within their fey grey. And Celeborn failed to suppress the rueful smile at being caught. "Forgive my interest," he murmured, glancing away. "I merely wonder on which hand Narya rests."

Círdan snorted in wry amusement. "I wear her not."

Celeborn glanced at him sharply, his brow furrowed. "What say you? To whom was the Ring given, then?"

Círdan held up a lissome hand at Celeborn's growing bewilderment and anger. "Peace, Celeborn. I spoke I wear her not, not that I have her not with me. I carry her, but not on my hand."

Celeborn's frown deepened. "Why?" he pressed for, dubious. "To keep Narya loosely about you is not optimal as it is foolish. Or taken back have you all that you raged in Gil-galad's study on the peril they carry?"

Círdan sent him a glare that clearly questioned his acumen. "I know well the risk, but I will seek guidance from the Sea ere I place her on my finger."

Celeborn's own glare softened at that, a slight smile playing at his features. "Though I am no Sea-elf, you taught me the seas flow and speak of their own will. Certain are you to receiving this guidance quickly enough? Wait you centuries for it with merely keeping Narya stowed on your being?"

Círdan looked back to the distance sea. "You hear if you listen. You simply must know what to listen for."

Celeborn stared at him ere briefly shaking his head, not even working to understand. "With haste do find your counsel, then. What guidance need you, anyway? You _are_ to be the Keeper of Narya, no?"

The air about the Shipwright grew impossibly solemn, and his eyes darkened in a way to remind Celeborn of an ocean under a heavy rain. But amid the slight clench of his jaw and lowering of his eyes, Círdan nodded nonetheless. "Unless I am forbidden, I will do as I promised Ereinion and bear Narya to the bitter end, if bitter it must be."

Celeborn deemed it wise to stay any comment on the fatalistic avowal and instead drew a deep breath, holding it as he worked to find a different, safer path to tread. "So," he began, benign in demeanor and tone, "discounting the counsel from the Sea you would hear, Gil-galad convinced you finally to take Narya?"

Círdan nodded yet again, silent as the grave in continuing to gaze out into the distance.

Celeborn looked to the faraway quay, also. "Wherefore was the gauntlet thrown, as to persuade you to accept the Red Ring?"

In silence Círdan remained. For so long did he maintain such quiet that Celeborn grew to expect no answer and, indeed, wondered if Círdan had even heard him amid his vacant perusal of the snowcapped vista. Celeborn was mere moments from turning away, believing his kinsman would rather be without company, when he finally spoke.

Even though more gruff than the wont of the melodic voices of Elves, his own still came soft, and Celeborn had to strain his own hearing to pick up quiet syllables. "Why gave you to Ereinion support in his choosing me?"

Taken aback was Celeborn, as much as by the question as in the vulnerable state it was voiced, and on his response he contemplated deeply, for Galadriel had demanded of him the same. And that Círdan truly wondered upon it as well and to regard such a choice with uncertainty, it caused Celeborn to think upon it more deeply, to search within himself why to such counsel he had so readily agreed in the first place.

The answer came swift, probably because he had long known it, Celeborn surmised. And he looked to his kinsman bereft of confidence in his reply, for he knew well that his reply would inspire no confidence in the Mariner and that he would remain as diminished and void of joy as he now looked.

"I trust you," he nearly entreated, in a helpless gesture shaking his head. "Ever since I could name constellations, never have you given me reason to distrust you with anything, wherein projecting such an unassailable and unpretentious persona was at the fault of you, I may add." The attempt at humor was lost and Círdan looked to have not even recognized it. Celeborn lowered his eyes, tightening his cloak about him. "Why I supported Gil-galad was simple: Sauron fails to predict you or understand you, for alone in his guise of Annatar he abandoned his attempts to sway you in effort to enter your great Havens. Never have you taken a kingship, as much as kingship rightly belonged to you since ere came Sun and Moon. No Sinda – or Noldo – with half a mind would deny this I now say. Yet even in such, you rule your people with all the wisdom and potency a king should rule with. You are humble, yet you are also noble and lordly. This I know, for you have taught Gil-galad to be the same. For the entirety of this night my reasons will last, for wherefore go I so readily to agree with the King, lest they be already engraved in my heart?"

But Círdan was shaking his head in slow movements, his eyes shut as he grimaced as the further words came forth from Celeborn's mouth. "End your words," he demanded, a lilt of disgust entering his tone. Círdan still evaded his gaze, and though he was calm and quiet in demeanor and words, behavior customary enough for him, so clearly was he distraught by that Celeborn spoke.

Such confused Celeborn, for it made him recall clearly the look of despair and nigh on panic beheld in Círdan's eyes when Gil-galad had requested of him to bear Narya. And Celeborn shook his head in saddened disbelief. "What fear you, Uncle?" he beseechingly whispered. For Celeborn truly knew not what there was to so greatly fear.

Despite the cheerless eve, a soft smile upturned one of the corners of Círdan's mouth. "Long has it been since you have called me 'Uncle'," he murmured softly, and by his voice he was endeared.

Celeborn returned the slight smile, his eyes soft. "Long has it been since we shared quiet words. But I beg of you, Uncle, speak what fear so ensnares you. At the thought of being the Keeper of Narya, what so makes you despair?"

Círdan was silent, his eyes closed as he paid no mind to the white strands wafting about him in the chilling wind, nor to the flecks of snow falling upon his face and nestling in his soft beard. His careworn face was taut with concentration and Celeborn thought he might have been listening, though for what, he knew not. But ere he could ponder on it more, Círdan opened his eyes, staring with empty orbs into the distance, and he shook his head. "No words of yours may grant me comfort or ease, so be not bothered by it and leave it be."

Such was not the answer Celeborn wanted to hear, and he sighed in distress. "Uncle, please," he practically begged. "I side with Gil-galad in this, in resenting the guilt you have placed upon me by this fear you harbor. If guilt I must bear, then at least make me aware of the reason I go to bear it."

Círdan looked to him then, and unreadable light in his eye. "I kept it silent from Ereinion, even in his demanding to know. For in my love for him, I refused to make greater his guilt. Why for you would I do differently?"

Celeborn could have slumped his shoulders, for he hated it when Círdan resorted to this line of argument, one against he could never win. And so, he instead stared at Círdan in challenge and spoke in mock severity, "You would because I would never again visit Mithlond unless you do."

Círdan stared at him, expressionless, though a twinkle of the merriment so greatly suppressed was glimpsed. "Resorting still to the arguments of your childhood, are you?" Celeborn nodded and Círdan grunted in light amusement, though it was quick to diminish as he stared out again to the sea. "In bearing Narya," he began, his gruff voice quiet, "I asked Ereinion of whereto among the lands must I go. He spoke nowhere."

Celeborn furrowed his brow. "Is he not correct in such an assessment?"

Círdan clenched his jaw. "I should rather have asked whereto among the lands _would I have_ to go. But I stayed my tongue from asking it."

If anything, Celeborn grew more confused. "And lost I remain. How changes this his answer?"

Círdan glanced at him and sighed. "Should Sauron learn I bear Narya, against all likelihoods, I refuse to condemn my people to suffer for my sake or for that of Narya. And so if it must be, I will take Narya and go into the Wild and remain away for however long a time I must."

Realization dawned as Celeborn then understood, and he felt his heart cry out in warning from broaching on this subject, even though he had pressed upon it against Círdan's wishes. "You fear having to leave Mithlond as to not bring her ruin. And thusly so you would be leaving the sea." Círdan spoke nothing and so obvious had the answer been that Celeborn wondered why he had not seen it before. The fear and dread of the Shipwright came now blatantly sound, for though Celeborn held no understanding of why or how such could be possible, he respected the fear and knew it to be real. And Celeborn thought truly he understood, though only from how greatly he knew the Sea-elf. Círdan's heart, nay, his soul was so greatly with the Sea and Celeborn knew his kinsman to love it as greatly as he did his own wife, for he praised the Sea by all manners of his music, his words and his craft. And leaving the side of the Sea, as Círdan now speculated, would be akin to heartbreak. Celeborn worked to conceive how he would feel if he so had to be severed from his side by Galadriel, separated from his own bonded mate for who knew how long a time, and he shivered as he glimpsed only a thread at the anguish and misery that would come upon him.

And looking upon Círdan now, Celeborn felt his heart rent at the sight of such insecurity and trepidation in the Mariner at this notion, for it made him fearful since he had never before witnessed such dismay to the great extent he now did. "I understand now your fear and place no fault with you in fearing so. Yet, if such came to the worst you envisage, believe you truly your people would just let you go? They are loyal to you and would defend you unto their dying breath."

"I know," Círdan growled, "and such is why I would go. And they _would_ let me, for they so have done before ere the Noldor came; so long were some of the times I spent away from Eglarest and Brithombar that my people thought I had been swallowed by the Waters. But for my people my greatest effort is given for their prosperity and peace. And such rage I now feel that Narya just might bring to ruin all they strive for."

Celeborn simply regarded him, a frown upon his fair face and no lack of concern in his bright eyes. "Uncle, have you foreseen something?" he cautiously inquired. "Pray tell, answer me truthfully, for this being bereft of hope is unlike you. Always have you inspired others in effort to wash away despair, especially in the First Age. And your words in Gil-galad's study further convince me some form of the Sight has come upon you in the matter of the Three."

"Nay, for as I spoke before, I speak again," Círdan reassured, a hard light in his eye. "With me the Sight is dormant on this. You need not forewarning to have knowledge and judgment."

Celeborn fell silent, temporarily at a loss on what to say at such information, or rather a lack of it. "Then if so great is your despair, what took it for Gil-galad to convince you finally to uptake Narya? I repeat, wherefore was the gauntlet thrown?"

There was another long pause, and when the voice of Círdan came, it was, again, unnaturally even and composed. "If I so refused in the end to bear Narya, I asked of Ereinion what then he would do."

Celeborn waited, disconcerted by Círdan's numb stoicism. "What spoke he?"

Círdan gave a slight sigh, looking to the distance as though his life depended on it. "He spoke he would have given the Ring to Elrond."

Celeborn lifted an eyebrow. "And _this_ so convinced you in the end to be a Guardian?" he questioned in disbelief. At Círdan's nod he shook his head with a soft chortle. "Círdan, I stand in the dark. Easier to comprehend was your decision to befriend Noldor."

"In it the gauntlet was thrown," he spoke solemnly, looking down to the stone at his waist. "I would rather let woe befall me."

Celeborn furrowed his brow, concern newly alight in them. "Círdan," he sought cautiously, "Elrond is young to your eyes and even mine, but the proposal of him being a Bearer is sound in many –"

Círdan rolled his eyes skyward and directed a glare at the Sinda usually reserved for recalcitrant mariners. "I spoke not of his incompetence, if even he has any," he gruffly informed. "Deep in Ereinion's council Elrond proves to be great, and in his heraldry he roars as a lion. And Ereinion shines as the Sun amid the Night, a shepherd among a flock thousands strong. Few kings are as great." The pride in his eyes as he had spoken diminished. "And now retreat to my Havens I must, to solace and govern my people arrayed in dark memory. And go I now must with the knowledge of Ereinion bearing this burden of Vilya." He shook his head, white tendrils of hair slipping from their confining braids. "I will have not Elrond suffer any further by suffering the same."

Celeborn bowed his head amid such conviction, reminded once more that, in Círdan, beneath the gruffness and pitiless persona, there lay a heart that cared. And Celeborn thought with caution on the words he would speak, for this was a matter that touched his own heart as well. "I know Elrond suffered much amid his youth," he began quietly. "He was orphaned ere he stood to my waist, kidnapped, then abandoned, and then worked he so greatly did to keep alive as many possible in the War of Wrath, including himself. And further woe did the Second Age bring." He turned his attention fully to Círdan, willing his kinsman to look him in the eye. "I would Elrond go without further burden as well, yet he cannot be caged. You spoke long ago of his destiny being beyond that bestowed upon any Elf. It is in wisdom to elect Elrond to bear a Ring of Power, this you cannot deny."

"I cannot, and thus, by my taking Narya, he will not," Círdan spoke affirmatively. "Ereinion may threaten me with it, but I will not allow it."

Celeborn cast to him a skeptical look. "_You_ asked him the question."

Círdan nearly rolled his eyes again. "And thus, so it is proven my curiosity may never die," he uttered darkly. "So alas, I go with, Elrond goes without, Ereinion worries hereafter and the World goes on. My mood is foul enough."

Celeborn received the hint and fell silent. Though amidst all his solemnity and curt words, for his kinsman Celeborn felt sympathy stir in his breast, for within the Mariner's eyes he saw some smoldering emotion he failed to name. And Celeborn inwardly shook his head; Círdan was still hiding something from him, probably from all of them. And whatever it would be, it was the reason for Círdan's foul mood, his worry and the dark cloud of grief following everywhere in his wake, aside from the fact he would rather hold conversation with an Orc than bear Narya. His silence was not out of obstinacy, really, as he had no real stubbornness, for Celeborn knew well that Círdan simply detested burdening others with what he might "feel". A waste of time he had always claimed it to be, much to Celeborn's amusement.

So Celeborn joined Círdan in his silence, staring out to the land under falling snow, but his partaking lasted very shortly. Though Elves were more insusceptible to the cold than mortals, this was truly a bitter night in regards to chill. Already feeling the cold of the stone ramparts seep into his legs to thereafter sit, Celeborn absently chaffed his fingers as he registered the lack of feeling within them, disgruntled at how immune to the biting cold the Shipwright looked to be. It was simply unfair, he inwardly grumbled.

Fearing tremors might soon find their way to his jaw he elected to speak, searching his mind for something on which to comment. "Not that I must know, but…why hugged you Gil-galad?" Círdan slowly turned to regard him, that particular look in his eye, and Celeborn held up his hands, all innocent. "It remains far from my business, aye. I only wonder since greatly unlike you such action remains. The sight stunned me."

Círdan snorted, shaking his head. "I hugged him for the same reason I embrace you in your adult life."

Celeborn looked to him in bemused skepticism. "What Celeborn speak you of? _Never_ have you instigated a hug with me."

Círdan arched an eyebrow. "I embraced you after ruin befell Doriath."

Celeborn rolled his eyes with a soft chortle. "Oh, grant me pardon in failing to recall that _one time_." Celeborn felt a shaft of delight within as he caught in the olden eyes of the Sea-elf dance a glimmer of merriment. He knew to be making jest as the expense of his kinsman, but seldom was he able to, so now he took full advantage of it. He held no ill thought in the fact that Círdan gave embraces in times very few, for in different ways did the Shipwright show his compassion.

"As I spoke," Círdan retorted in his gruff manner, impassive all the way, "I could offer Ereinion little comfort. By an embrace are most people solaced when nothing else could be given, by either word or deed."

Celeborn was nodding. "Even more so when the embraces are seldom." But he then sobered as he caught meaning of the words and crossed his arms in further effort to ward of the incessant chill. "Will Ereinion be well? From a child to king I watched him grow, and scarce before had I witnessed him so uncertain."

Círdan nodded ere bowing once more his head. Regret was not often seen in his eyes, Celeborn pondered. So strong it must have been to be visible now. "Aye, he shall," spoke Círdan. "As I told, my words this night shook him, a deed far from my intentions. Douse my fire, for I spoke much in haste and would that I placed thought upon it first."

Celeborn suppressed a chuckle, looking to him in polite amusement. "And yet, still you would take not back one word?"

He shook his white head. "Of the foolish it remains to withdraw the truth. But of its deliverance, I –"

"Would have veiled it differently," Celeborn finished knowingly, remembering well the harsh words of similar context Círdan had spoken to him mere hours ago.

Círdan solemnly nodded. "If only for Ereinion's sake."

Silence fell once more, though it fell short in its lasting, for as a sudden memory came to Celeborn, the Sinda glanced sidelong at the Sea-elf, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I meant to ask….Morgoth take all Noldor?" He repeated the curse Círdan had hissed with visible merriment dancing in his eyes. And in wonder he shook his head, the slight smile growing. "Never before had I heard you sound so akin to Thingol."

Círdan shrugged in a gesture of pure innocence. "He had reason to curse them."

Celeborn chuckled fully. "Yet fully with you lay the fault for his cursing them," he lightly accused.

Círdan pondered on that for a moment ere going to nod in agreement, his tone spent with resignation. "I suppose it was." Both recalled clearly how it had been due to Círdan's letter to Thingol that had resulted in the fury of the High King with the Noldor, for the letter had bespoken of all the ill deeds of the Noldor and their sins against their Teler kin that had been kept hidden from Thingol thus far. Not a day had passed ere Círdan put to letter all this he had learnt from Finrod at the great feast of Mereth Aderthad held in the spring near the pools of the Ivrin; though many counsels had been taken in good will and oaths were sworn of friendship and league, it had been there Finrod told Círdan all in their deep friendship. And Círdan had not hesitated to tell his King, thus leading to one of the greatest forbiddances to be ever set.

Celeborn shook his head in mock despair. "At the worst times do you seem to surface from the sea."

"And then, too, was my anger great," Círdan murmured, and his words were scarce to be heard. "Never had I such hatred and ire in my heart as that day, and by only the Sea was it soothed till all was as the Sea willed, for I went first to the Sea ere acting on my heart. And such I should have done this time around." Círdan shook his head in a way spelling only despair, in a way such as Celeborn had never before seen.

"I am sorry, Celeborn," Círdan aggrieved, his voice weary beyond recognition as he leant upon the parapet, his head bowed. "I regret you ever having to witness my anger when it was mine alone, for you bearing a great brunt of it. I should have sought the Sea ere I raged this night. Great Ulmo, grant me redemption from the haste you long have cleansed me of."

Celeborn was motionless in his state of great hesitation, and he looked upon the olden Sea-elf in no small amount of discomfort and doubt. From the earliest years of childhood and lasting the entirety of his life, Círdan had been always a salient figure, and to see him now so contrite was as looking upon a new land devoid of that in the old. And never before had the Sea-elf had need to apologize to him as he now did. Though as a white flame the Shipwright's ire could burn, seldom though it kindled, just as great could the guilt and regret he placed upon his own shoulders be.

So, in a gesture of indifference, Celeborn shrugged it aside, for he truly saw it nowhere near as grave as did his elder. "Knew I well of your coming anger, for many a century have I known you." He turned to regard Círdan, his eyes shining bright in their tightly reserved compassion. "I, at least, was not offended."

"Aye," Círdan wryly spoke. "Of all present, by my shouting you looked least surprised."

Celeborn chuckled, glancing out to where were supposed to be moored the armadas of many ships. "I expected you to shout. Many a time in my youth had you taken me sailing upon your ship and very accustomed grew I to your having to bellow over the uproar of the sea to be heard. I only never expected that tone to be voiced indoors. Thus, your shouts were of no surprise, for when great is your ire and born with grief uncounted, it stays not locked away, pervading only the shadows of your heart. Spoken have I long ago that few ways existed to tell you alike with my King, but in those few ways none could deny your kinship. And mayhap it remains for the better fury be not contained in all threads of life, for remember all the good granted unto our people by the madness of rage unleashed in Fingolfin as he stormed alone the gates of Angband. And told me much you have of Ossë's wrath."

Círdan huffed in amusement. "But seldom is his wrath useful, as mine was not this night. None can deny it brought more discomfort than insight."

Celeborn nodded, having to concede that. "I repeat that I spoke; your words tend to be powerful, and truthfully delivered. If any deserve your apology, it is Gil-galad, not I, for to him was your anger focused."

"To him I did apologize, and no, not all of it was." Círdan looked over to him and deep within a glimpse of reluctant contrition was seen. "I spoke ill words to you of your wife, something no spouse should bear. For that, I apologize."

Celeborn inwardly grimaced, recalling well how the Mariner had come upon him as a predator in the study. "Any ensuing anger I felt was short lasted, Uncle, and only in her name," he spoke wearily. "How could I begrudge you your words when with them I had long agreed? Besides, I am no docile Elf who blusters and acts as a besotted fool in face of insults to my wife, be they true or no. With Galadriel I shared harsher words, and you had every right to speak your disapproval of her. No matter how great any of us be, by fault of our imperfections, none are below censure. Even if she would argue it, Galadriel knows it as well, and would have stayed resenting you for voicing your opinion."

Círdan slowly turned to look at him and Celeborn could have sworn his eyes had narrowed. "I care not what she might have done, Celeborn, but out of my respect for your marriage my tongue should have been held, at least before the presence of others."

Celeborn thought upon that ere nodding. "With such I agree and accept your apology. I know you to be displeased by her bearing Nenya, but at least you stand aware she remains not among the faint of heart for the task."

Círdan shook his head, the veil over bitter enmity growing thinner the further Celeborn tread upon this delicate subject. "She believes herself to be free amongst this Land."

Celeborn looked to him in slight reproof. "She is in many respects, yet I believe her to be more as Fëanor than she realizes, desiring to master minds ere understanding them, never restraining the fire of her heart. But within that fire is also a great abundance of good." His words trailed off and from Círdan he turned his attention away, looking back out to the shoreline currently indiscernible to his eye. And he let go a weary sigh. "Uncle, I pretend not to understand what is between you and my wife –"

Círdan snorted. "That hard to guess, is it?" he groused.

Celeborn had to concede such, also. "Well, no, but in the reality of now the two of you being Guardians over that most imperative, would you not consider setting aside this hostility between you?"

Círdan turned to him a hard look, his eyes alight with a sharp acuity. "Galadriel will find no joy in that Ring, Celeborn," he spoke in a low voice smothered with warning. "She believes she will, and goodness knows for this very reason she took it. _This_ is what bothers me."

Celeborn gave a brief bow of his head. "I know, and me it bothered also, and does still. Yet hear me, I pray, and recall all you professed was good within Galadriel. She _cares_ for these lands. Mayhap not as great as she envisaged upon leaving Valinor were these lands, but she recognizes the worth in fighting for them. As great a foe is Sauron to her as he is to you and never shall she yield to the strategies of the Enemy. If she wishes to lead people, she knows as do we all you must lead by example. And she shall be not frivolous and negligent with Nenya as I am certain you fear, of which you have great reason to. But in the peril of lives that may be slain in result of acts of folly on her behalf, Galadriel has the wisdom to be beyond such imprudence."

Círdan regarded him steadily, his eyes unwavering, though not ostentatious. "Your words fall on deaf ears, or rather ears that need not hear them. I know well Galadriel to be no juvenile delinquent upon bearing a Ring of Power. If so, then Sauron wasted greatly his time in working to deceive her. She knows who the Enemy is and why he remains the Enemy. Never shall she yield to the strategies of the Enemy, say you, yet what of their temptations?" he challenged. "Seldom do the stratagems of Evil come as ugly and dark as they reveal to be. In all manners of manipulation do they come, sweet as honey, beguiling as water in a desert, and poisoning as a tainted wine. Sauron is no fool and would Galadriel be so able to conquer his cunning if he, Valar forbid, somehow learnt of her lust for power? For fame? The Enemy bears the eye of an eagle in his search for weakness in his foes, and believe you truly Galadriel could master herself as to overcome blows dealt by the Enemy? You must master yourself ere –"

"– commanding others," Celeborn finished. "I know." It was a common enough bylaw among the young mariners who endeavored to someday take command of their own vessel. "Profess your disdain not on me, for I know of it and from where in stems. And aye, I _do_ believe she can, for she is strong and great in her strength. And at the very least, you need not worry about Sauron learning of Nenya."

Círdan shook his head. "I never worried for such, Celeborn, for indeed, I know Galadriel will keep secret the White Ring, if only for the sake of never becoming bereft of it herself. In all ends, she shall not yield it and Sauron will ever go without such power."

Celeborn wearily sighed, truly believing he just might now be capable of falling into slumber. "Then in the faith of this alone, will you let the dissension be gone?"

Círdan turned to peer at him, an angered and suspicious gleam alight in his eye. "I hold nothing between us, Celeborn," he stated. "Nothing that would come to end in folly. My hand has remained ever open to her for the sake of my being bidden to befriend her, but with every meeting of ours I am urged to withdraw it, for lost she remains in her beliefs of being superior to those of Ennor. By reluctance on both are parts does it seem strife shall remain."

Celeborn shook his head, for a moment dubious. "Seldom do I go in circles in talk with my own kin, but where lay your censure? Pray tell, speak of it, speak of what reasoned foundation Galadriel should bear not this Ring?" Never had he felt so hypocritical in such an inquiry, but he needed to know the answer nonetheless.

Círdan turned to him fully then, terse in manner and impatient in thought. "Firstly, I spoke never she should not bear this Ring. But where draws she the line? Where?" he demanded.

Celeborn knew to where Círdan was going with this question and grew incensed, for he had no desire to be backed into a corner yet again. Círdan had valid argument, but so did he. "Such is not but conjecture, for Galadriel is wise and potent in knowledge –"

"_Where_ draws she the line?" Círdan insisted, and Celeborn felt momentarily stunned at the fierce interruption, for such abrupt disregard was wholly unlike Círdan as well. "She has no line to draw, does she?"

Celeborn slowly shook his head, his annoyance growing. "It is not within her nature to back down –"

"It is in no Elf's blood to retreat if his heart be whole," Círdan interrupted yet again, refusing to grant any possible leeway it seemed. "But every Elf has a line to draw. Even Celebrimbor drew his own when it came to another partaking of his metalwork. Better than I and any other do you know Galadriel, so where would she draw her line? Or in her pride will she ever refuse to acknowledge one?"

Celeborn chuckled acerbically, his patience quickly diminishing as true ire took hold. "She _does_ have a line." He paused to let this be registered. "And you crossed it long ago, just as she crossed yours." No answer came and Celeborn looked deep into Círdan's eyes and saw in them anger, aye, but also honesty and integrity. And he felt a sense of shame wash over him, for he recognized then that Círdan asked none of these questions in mockery or in the mutual contempt he held for Galadriel. He truly wished to know answers to these questions. And Celeborn sighed, weary beyond that he had ever experienced before, to his belief.

"Aye," he began again, more calm and thoughtful in demeanor, "well aware am I Galadriel insulted you and your whole way of living and remains to do so, so long as she refuses to let it go. But in effort to make better this new dilemma, would you consider not retreating one step back across that line so I may be free of holding my breath every time you two cross paths?"

Círdan lifted an eyebrow. "Back over her line you would I retreat, and then what? Profess my disloyalty to Ulmo with open acts of disregard? To let fall a deaf ear unto the Waters, so long as _she_ is pleased by my conduct? I care not if she believes herself better to everyone else, but no one scolds my people on how we live without earning my condemnation. In such, once she leaves us be, a bridge may then be crossed and I will do so with no hand within the past."

Celeborn looked ready to give up any attempts and, indeed, went to turn away from Círdan. But strong, calloused hands told a gentle hold of his face and turned him back until he looked again up into the wise and solemn eyes of the mentor he had long known and received counsel from.

"You ask us to work together, and I shall," Círdan reassured, his tone soft and rustic. "Though my fury may ever remain over the existence of the Elven Rings, my people's survival now depends on their secrecy. On this matter I have no doubt Galadriel possesses valuable insight, but all else of hers remains colored. But be not concerned I would allow our differences to overrule the greater need of our mutual aid. How could you ever think this of me?"

No hurt was within the question, but Celeborn understood its meaning. And he repressed a smile, inward as it was, as he recalled the very claim he had professed to Gil-galad about Círdan, that in all matters, in all ends, he truly did remain beyond partial thought. Círdan _was_ angry and for a long time would most likely remain so. Celeborn had simply misconstrued the foundations of such ire.

So, he simply voiced a small, "Thank you," in wry exasperation as he lightheartedly slapped the Sea-elf's hands aside.

Círdan offered no smile and instead looked the younger Elf up and down in a cursory glance. "Less enraged do you seem than you were in Ereinion's study."

Celeborn proffered a reluctant nod to such an observation. "Mayhap my acceptance for reality has come, for though I have neither love nor approval of it, it will be not changed. This, and also born from fear was much of my wrath in months past." He shook his head as a shadow clouded over his eyes. "You have no concept, Uncle, of how it is to have someone you love as no other commit to such a foolish deed, for foolish it was in the situation Galadriel undertook Nenya. I feared as seldom before."

Círdan was solemn as he nodded in return. "I know you speak the truth and would never contest it, for I believe not to have ever felt pain so severe, mayhap because my heart is too hard to risk the joys of real love."

Celeborn lightly smiled, looking upon Círdan in slight amusement, but also wholly with sincerity. "You love as greatly as any person does his wife. In place of a maiden the Sea is simply your mistress." Though it sounded still ludicrous unto his hears, he had long ago given up of ever understanding it. "But upon your voyage come morn, Uncle, go home shorn of the burdens you placed upon yourself here. Be merry in that the war is over, and you and your people may return to peace."

Círdan nodded. "Be you also merry, Celeborn," he reciprocated. "Our efforts of war are ended, and for long duration shall Sauron remain far from our doorstep ere he gains the courage to come forth again. But now, I must sleep, or at least rest my body if sleep is to remain from me."

Celeborn looked to him then with an appreciative light in his eye. Though dimmed by weariness and distress, Círdan's grey eyes were bright as could be and his silver hair gleaming white grew into greater disarray among the endless buffeting of the wind. His attire was worn and his frame lined with fatigue. Yet unto Celeborn's eyes he looked no less great. Círdan was immeasurably old among times most ancient. With soft and deepening creases about his eyes and mouth growing ever more careworn, his face was no longer fair and beautiful as Celeborn once remembered it to be. He was aged and aging, yet still able to climb nimbly about the rigging of his ships. Hale and resolute, Círdan ever remained active in the unraveling of Ennor, both in counsel and action. And Celeborn felt, once again, thankful his kinsman had participated as such in this war yet again when, truly, he had no obligation to. Círdan was worn and weary beyond that any Elf could imagine suffering. But in such he was a veteran to all blows the Enemy had to offer. And amidst such experience and mastery, who so could rightly say he was wrong to bear Narya?

Celeborn bowed his head to him, a small smile touching his face. "Then I will leave you that I might obtain rest of my own. I only hope you may find some sleep ere voyaging on the morrow."

Círdan stared hard at him for along moment ere rolling his eyes skyward in mock disdain as he reached out and pulled Celeborn into a hug of his own. And he held him tight as all manner of his warmth and love for his young kinsman was thrown into it. "I so do wish you would end looking upon me as you did as a child," Círdan groused quietly in his ear.

Celeborn chuckled and stepped back from the embrace, tightening his hold upon Círdan's shoulder once ere releasing it. "Make for your bed, Uncle, and I will see you come dawn."

And he did so, taking Celeborn with him back down the stairs and out of the biting cold.

To be continued….

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**A/N:** Readers who have read my work before will be unsurprised that this chapter came longer than I anticipated again. But now we have only one more chapter to go. And as a pre-warning, there is much to be done in the finale and a slight chance exists that the chapter may be divided in two, though I'll do my best to work against such a happenstance. Otherwise, more events and conversations are coming, mainly held between Celeborn & Elrond and Círdan & Galadriel. Though I only stratched the surface of it in this chapter, it is still yet to be learnt of this issue between the two Elves. As always, reviews are beyond appreciated and I welcome any words you have to offer. With that, thank you for reading and sticking around for so long. I hope to be blessed by your attention again. Please review!


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** For full disclaimer, see Chapter 1.

**A/N:** And so comes the final chapter. Sorry this chapter came over a week late. Writer's block. Enough said. I would like to thank all readers for taking the time to read this piece. And even more, I would like to give my endless thanks, as always, to **Certh**, **Lia** **Whyteleafe**, **Oleanne**, **Glory** **Bee**, **GreenGreatDragon**, and **Sadie Sil – English Stories** for taking the time to review. Your words mean the world to me.

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"There are some things that it is better to begin than to refuse, even though the end may be dark." ~ Aragorn, _The Riders of Rohan_

**Chapter 7**

Much to the wonder of many, the day dawned bright. Though the sky remained blissfully clear of a heavy cloud, the air remained still bitterly cold and biting to the skin. Yet, looming again in the far distance to the north, hovering low over the Ered Luin, was the heavy accumulation of dark clouds that signified another great storm. To this, Celeborn shook his head in both wonder and disgust. On a blessed day when the Sun shone bright, those to be sailing away this morn were doomed to go without the small reprieve, it seemed, for quickly did the storm look to come. Verily, the winds were fair as he had wished upon Círdan yester night, but Valar….Celeborn was surely glad to not be one destined to sail in a snowstorm.

With his wife and daughter Celeborn stood in the courtyard of the House of Gil-galad, all of the small family arrayed in their finest. And within the courtyard was the hustle and bustle of rampant activity. A fine layer of wet snow had settled amid its nightly fall, and though it stretched atop rooftops, over Elven streets, and along the plains about the city of Lindon, the sunlight illuminated it as a sheen layer of glass, and the snow about the courtyard was trampled down by those heavy enough to compress it.

Men, in other words. To saunter atop the snow Elves remained light of foot, save for those arrayed in their ceremonial armor. But in their weight, Men were heavy enough, and they were everywhere. Horses were brought out from the stables to be readied by both Man and Elf alike, and the kerfuffle of hundreds of voices were raised as they called to one another in question or comment. Or orders. There seemed to be many an order delivered this morning.

For the departure of Men and Elves was come. Gil-galad and his entourage would ride to the quays of Lindon to deliver his formal speech of appreciation to the Elves of Mithlond and Men of Númenor who had aided them in the efforts against the Lord of Mordor. But even more so, that gratitude would go to the Númenóreans alone for coming in their dire hour of need. As one who had served in the war and had been on the receiving end of the Númenóreans' saving grace, Celeborn would go with Gil-galad, Elrond and the many other Elves to the great harbor to give his bow. And now the Elves and Men of the two civilizations eastward and west were making ready to depart for their ships.

And in the distance, an even greater buzzing of activity was taking place, for the many ships of the Fleets Mannish and Elven were making ready to break harbor, colors of the two Kingdoms flying high. For as soon as Gil-galad arrived, as well as their respective commanders that had partaken of the Elvenking's hospitality amid their brief stay in Lindon, and in the immediate time following the King's speech, the fleets would deploy. And now, a whole manner of shouting was to be heard about the harbor, setting to fly the gulls on the quay, as the ships were prepared: mainsails unfurled and readied to be trimmed, skiffs secured to the beams, clearing away snow that had settled on rigging and decks, crewmen making ready their stations and those of their fellow mariners up at the House of Gil-galad, and supplies being stowed away and secured down below. Any imperfection (seldom as they were) was being corrected, for it was the intention that the many ships would appear nothing less than perfect when the Lords Círdan and Ciryatur went to board.

To say the Elven and Mannish mariners were not competing at the moment was a bold-faced lie. Upon inquiry, it would be denied, of course, but both Races went beyond the expected effort to make their respective fleet look superior to the other, as if the unique craft of their ships accomplished not something of such already. For the ships of Númenor were massive in size and girth, their bulk made to withstand attack and damage more easily. The Mannish armada looked to be built for war alone in their might when regarding their impressive structure and practically indestructible hulls. The masts towered high in the air, some of the greater ships bearing two or three masts, and the multiple sails of tarpaulin were woven thick and strong. But though the ships of Númenor radiated power and authority in their fortifications, they sailed a tad slower for it, no matter their number of oarsmen, and no ship could match one of Mithlond's for speed. For though the vessels of Círdan were smaller in scale, they were far more beautifully and intricately made, crafted to go about the seas as a low-flying heron. For the Sea-elven ships, unlike their counterparts, were lean and deceptively resilient in their elegant curves fore and aft, made to withstand the tumult often delivered by Ossë, Master of the Seas.

The Elven vessels might be subtle in their make and believed by an inexpert eye to be crafted more for their ethereal beauty than practicality. But such could be not further from the truth, for in their endless age Elves had learned how to weave elegance with effectiveness. And such was why that, even though Círdan's mariners would hesitate to make an enemy of the Númenórean Fleet, the mariners of Númenor would hesitate just as greatly to battle by ship the Sea-elven armada at open sea. It would be as working to tame a wild shark.

But the number of ships moored all along the length of Lindon's harbor was overwhelming and a seldom sight to behold by the eye. Or rather, what the eye was able to see, for the mooring of ships stretched beyond even Elven eyesight. Living on the coast of Lhûn, Gil-galad had a decent number of ships at his command, of course. But now, those ships were virtually invisible amid the presence of the unmatchable Fleets of Mithlond and of Númenor.

And now, Celeborn observed, the courtyard was alive with those people working to make themselves ready. Not one mariner sported apparel unbefitting their station, and many of the Elves were already binding their hair back in the standard sailor's knot undertaken while out at sea. But though he looked about, Celeborn's attention was for Galadriel.

"Are you certain about this?" he murmured in her ear. Galadriel glanced at him and then looked to Celebrían, making sure she could not hear. But Celebrían's attention was elsewhere, namely at the Men going to and fro about her. Still too young in learning to conceal that she felt by expression alone, her eyes were slightly wide in fascination as she regarded them. Until now, she had yet to truly see the Race of Men, but the Númenóreans could hardly stand as a befitting example of them. Dark hair and grey eyed, their tongues were alive with Adûnaic in contrast to the Sindarin otherwise spoken. Never mind each and every one of them was a highly skilled warrior; by the rowing of oars alone they were broad in shoulder. In their physique, they were powerful in their strength and tapered waists. Some sported beards along their chiseled faces and so great in height did they stand as to be scarcely differentiating with the height of the Elves about.

But Galadriel, golden hair loose about her shoulders and arrayed in garments of purple hue, turned upon Celeborn a resigned and rather begrudging look. "I am certain," she spoke in a low undertone. "I placed much thought upon it this morn and deem it to be the wiser course."

Celeborn looked to Círdan a short distance away, who stood conversing with both Man and Elf, and then back to his wife. "I understand so, but I would question such wisdom in speaking with Círdan _today_. Hear me, Galadriel, for he is still greatly angered from yester night and has every right to be."

She sighed. "I know, but you were right."

Celeborn stared at her in silence, lifting an eyebrow. "I would Finrod could hear this."

She gave a small smile. "Finrod never questioned your intelligence _that_ much." The smile faded. "But you were right and I wrong in what you spoke last night. Verily, Círdan and I must have some mutual civility now with this responsibility we share."

"So you elect to go speak with him." Celeborn shook his head. "No sweet words of yours will stay his wrath on the Three. And if you work to manipulate him with kind words to lay aside your –"

"I know, Celeborn," she sighed. "I know it would be folly to do such with him. But to speak to him nonetheless I must. And now, I deem, lest Gil-galad announces your departure a moment too soon."

With that, she spoke a few quiet words to Celebrían and gave a brief squeeze of Celeborn's hand ere she went on her way to where Círdan stood, gracefully weaving through the many bodies about. Celeborn watched her go for but a moment ere casting his regard to Gil-galad. Much of what he had witnessed last night upon the ramparts stirred concern in Celeborn. Currently, Gil-galad was in conversation with several Men, though they looked to be pouring over a map Elrond traveled a finger across as he spoke. Judging the High King would be not disturbed by an interruption, he uttered a quiet "wait here" to Celebrían and made his way over to the clustered group of officers, the snow softly crunching underfoot.

Gil-galad caught sight of him as he neared and gave a slight nod in greeting. Celeborn returned the gesture as he stepped alongside him. "May I have a quiet word, my lord?"

A glimmer of relief shone in his eyes. "Certainly. The talk of such detail for ships breaking harbor remain beyond my patience."

The High King led the Sinda a ways away from the clusters of people about, going to stand by tall shrubbery in effort to remain inconspicuous from observers. Their voices might still be heard, but amid the general chatting and upraised voices about, it was doubtful.

"Well, Celeborn, what would you speak of?" Gil-galad inquired, turning upon him a curious eye.

Celeborn studied him. Gil-galad stood tall and strong with no sign of weariness, save that found in his eyes. A silver circlet bedecked with gold flecks was upon his brow, his hair was intricately braided, and in his fair raiment he was kingly. In all, he looked nothing short of the High King of Eriador often praised with high and kind words. Yet Celeborn knew Gil-galad more than would be admitted. Rather surreptitiously, he asked, "Are you well, Gil-galad?"

A knowing gleam entered the King's eye as he gave a slight smile. "I am," he spoke. "I feel as rested as you look."

Celeborn gave a wry grin. He had managed to fall asleep last night, all things considered. But the chore of waking from slumber as the Sun rose had fallen to Galadriel, who had finally had to resort to threatening him that she would pour water atop his body if he did not. So he had risen, bleary-eyed, his head pounding and body aching.

"I am sorry to hear it," he replied, a glimmer of humor bright in his eyes. He glanced at the storm to the north, narrowing his eyes at the light. "I fail to fathom how Círdan could feel up to par to sail this day. Are the ships truly breaking harbor? That storm looks to be hours away."

Gil-galad nodded. "Aye. Fair is the day, even if cold, and the winds are strong. Few conditions could be offered to make better sailing this day."

Celeborn, again, glanced in concern to the coming storm and the High King gave a soft chuckle. "I wondered the same, Celeborn," he spoke in quiet amusement. "This storm will come and looks not to be gentle. I questioned the wisdom of sailing today, of all days, but both Círdan and Ciryatur assure me it shall be long hours ere the storm reaches them. Furthermore, Círdan spoke with confidence he and his mariners will make it to Mithlond by such a time. And Ciryatur is determined to travel far along the Gulf ere beaching to wait out the storm." He gave a huff of amusement. "Verily, the Númenóreans will be off worse. Elrond is counseling them now on where to best run aground their ships."

Celeborn turned to look at Elrond, now understanding why so many captains and commanders of the Númenórean vessels were clustered around him and the map he held. Even though mariners of such renown were capable of battling such a storm out at sea, it would be foolish to seek shelter from it as only a last resort. And Celeborn surmised such a location would be somewhere between Harlond and Forlond, for at Harlond rested the remainder of the Númenórean Fleet. So great in number was the navy of Númenor that it was impossible to anchor all of them to Lindon's harbor. So, while counsel and discussion were held in Lindon, the rest of the fleet went elsewhere to wait. Círdan was burdened with the same issue, three times too many ships to moor at Lindon's quay. But the majority of his fleet had sailed already back to Mithlond under his command. This day was for ceremony in the giving of the formal farewell to the hundreds of mariners, especially to those of Númenor.

Though still rather doubtful of the weather, Celeborn merely shrugged. "Well, if Círdan and Ciryatur deem the weather durable for sailing, then so be it, for they are the masters of weather, not I." He lowered his voice. "I mean not to ask this where ears might hear, but…are they safe?"

Gil-galad slowly nodded, his eyes grave at the change in subject. "They are safe," he answered quietly. "I wear it now and with his own jewel, Círdan will not return to me."

Celeborn hesitated. "I conversed with Círdan yester night, and he spoke he will seek guidance from the Sea ere he –"

"I know," Gil-galad interrupted. He turned to look at Celeborn in the eye, solemn as his wont. "But I also know him. Many a time he has returned from receiving word from the sea, ever since in his care he took me, and never has such word been to relieve him of something that may be for the benefit of Middle-earth, even if it is sacrifice. Narya will remain with him."

Celeborn thought upon such and had to concede it. He crossed his arms, beginning to feel the winter chill of the air. "I spoke to Galadriel of all this."

Gil-galad raised an eyebrow, though whether in surprise or interest Celeborn did not know. "What says she?"

Celeborn was indifferent. "She was ill-pleased, but slept last night. Though be warned, for she plans to seek you out to have words with you."

"Why?"

Celeborn sighed. "She demands to know fully why you excluded her counsel."

Gil-galad sighed also, wearily shaking his head. "I told you why. Círdan –"

"I know," Celeborn reassured. "And even if I told her so, it is no satisfying answer. She sees your choice as folly and wishes to challenge it."

Celeborn thought to glimpse a flash of ire at such words, but Gil-galad remained resolutely unreadable. "Well," he spoke calmly, "if my choice in whose counsel I choose remains without reason, then I know not what to tell her to placate her. It is inasmuch as Círdan was coming I opted to exclude her. I take it she will be displeased to hear such from me, also?"

Celeborn suppressed a grimace. "No, for she reacted not well at all to Círdan being a Guardian."

Gil-galad gave another weary shake of his head, though this time a tad exasperated. "And to tell me I act in folly she has the audacity? Ai Celeborn, I will never understand why she and Círdan fail in being consociates at the least, if only in their efforts against the same foe. To Círdan I would counsel improvement on his regard of her, but alas, he remains to alike a father in mine eyes that I fail to find the courage."

Celeborn gave a soft smile, though it swiftly disappeared. "I understand your concern, but be not discouraged by their lack of amiability, for their mutual dislike goes beyond bitter words." He gave a quick shake of his head. "Why speak I this, anyway? You know already what stands between them, seldom spoken of as it is."

Gil-galad cast to him an unimpressed look. "I doubt so, for Círdan speaks naught of it to me." He cocked his head to the side, thinking. "Indeed, he never has."

Celeborn regarded him in skeptical disbelief. "Truly, must I spell it out, Gil-galad? By your heritage and upbringing, and now as King, you know greatly both the Noldor and Sindar, and more specifically, you know the Sea-elves, unique as you are. And you, in particular, know well of Círdan's loyalty to Ulmo."

Gil-galad's brow had furrowed and his attention was rapt. And he hesitated. "I know of it," he spoke warily.

And Celeborn sighed without realizing so, a weary sigh that had existed and risen up time and again throughout the long millennia. "What more need you know? Though vague and baffling such loyalty is, you know of it. I know of it. And so does Galadriel." He shot to Gil-galad a meaningful look. "Remember you not Galadriel's reasons for leaving Aman to come to Lands beyond the Sea?"

Gil-galad looked somewhat startled at the arbitrary question. "She spoke she was curious to see the unguarded lands to the East, and to mayhap rule a realm here of her own."

Celeborn was shaking his head. "She was eager to be gone from Aman, you are correct. But she was one of the leaders of the Noldorin rebellion _against_ the Valar. She left Aman so the Valar could tell her not what to do." He paused as he looked away, his words growing soft and resigned in their delivery. "In Doriath ere we were wed, I asked of her wherefore she left the Blessed Realm. Her words were many and with the power of fire in their might. She told me she feared residing with the Valar any further, for they were incapable of keeping the Noldor or even their own realm secure from their Enemy. She told me she refused to reside any further with the kin of the one who murdered their Noldorin King. She told me the Noldor were valiant and could do better than that the Valar permitted them. She told me her heart had grown weary residing in a narrow land cooped between the mountains and the Sea. She told me that, in the Hither Lands, the Noldor – now free – might be able to walk of their own will. She told me the Noldor had been contained long enough."

Celeborn gave a humorless chortle, his eyes dark, as he continued. "Galadriel's words in Doriath were never-ending on how she knew she had the prowess to win the freedom the Valar kept from her in Aman, to win great realms beyond the Valar's reach. Galadriel spoke that, while in Aman, the Valar had been jealous of the High-elves, thus why the Valar spoke not of the Coming of Men in Beleriand. And thus, in their jealousy, the Valar had cozened them and her. If they had not left, Galadriel told me she feared the Valar would have held them captive, to treat the Noldor as nothing but their servants who have no authority where the Valar reside. And so, in her ambition to be free of being ruled to instead undertake the duty of ruling, Galadriel crossed the Grinding Ice. _This_ is why she left Aman with her kin. This was why she refused the pardon of the Valar, insulted the Valar believed they had authority over her to grant her pardon in anything. She was free of them, after all."

Though he looked to be a tad astonished by that he heard, understanding had gradually dawned in Gil-galad's blue eyes. Only now, they bespoke more of disappointment, or even sadness, than surprise. "And Círdan…."

Celeborn slowly nodded. "Aye, Gil-galad," he murmured, so utterly weary. "This feud between Círdan and my wife is not so difficult to deduce. Just _look_ at how Galadriel regards the Valar, what she thinks and believes of them. And then look at the contrast in Círdan: he is utterly obedient to Ulmo and bows to him at every turn as his Lord and Master. Even now, he spoke of going to receive guidance from the Sea ere placing Narya on his finger. Galadriel declares it foolishness to fall captive to the Valar's traps that ensnare us to be their servants. And Círdan willingly and graciously goes to be nothing but a servant to Ulmo, standing at his beck and call, to do or say anything at Ulmo's bidding. Think of it; Círdan's first habitation, his 'childhood', was in the Deeps of Time, a place beyond any imaginings. Aye, Cuiviénen was little, but Círdan told me the Quendi had known Cuiviénen to be as it was, to be so great and unmatchable in the Music as it was, because the Valar had bent all their thought and desire towards it upon creating it, so Círdan said Oromë spoke. To the Quendi, to Círdan, such was worthy of worship. And Círdan's worship had been nothing until coming upon the shores of the Great Sea, in whereto he met Ulmo. And now, with Círdan, the Sea-elves worship Ulmo. And the thought of worshipping a Vala, to _live under his ruling_, is as an outrage and disgrace to Galadriel."

Gil-galad narrowed his eyes. "In Galadriel's reasons, my father spoke much the same when reciting Fëanor's words upon Túna."

Celeborn softly nodded with a shrug. "As I told Círdan, she is more alike Fëanor than she realizes, or more than she would willingly admit, for it is clear his words kindled yearnings unfounded in her heart. And thereafter, her ambition has colored her regard of the Valar. Be not mistaken, I am not angered, for I would not have met her otherwise. And who am I to speak of the Valar when never meeting them?"

Gil-galad was silent for a long moment, absently shaking his head. "What you speak makes sense and easy to understand upon thought. Alas, I would it could be different, but how so could it be? This goes to the very foundations of the heart. And who has the power to change a heart, save yourself? And thus, what can be done to mend this?"

Celeborn sighed. "You ask yourself the question I have asked since you Noldor came to Beleriand, or rather ever since Círdan and my wife first met. Círdan was bidden to befriend the Noldor but has little will to make friends with one who has only ill words for the one who had bidden him in the first place. I am only grateful Galadriel has not expected me to choose between her and my kinsman, for it is something I will not do."

Gil-galad gave a bitter smile. "And now they must bear the same burden only a handful know of. Oh, how I look forward to the headaches to come from this."

"Your Majesty?"

The two Elves turned in slight surprise, so caught up in their musings had they been. It was Elrond, looking every bit the prodigious herald he was, and he stood tall and attentive amid waiting for the King's reply. With Gil-galad, Celeborn noted how the Men once clustered around the Half-elf had scattered to go about readying their own mounts. The map lay folded in Elrond's hand and his dark hair bound back by braids wafted softly in the wind.

But Gil-galad nodded and Elrond gestured behind him. "The Men have found your answer suitable, finally, and are ready to depart at your command. Your mount is also readied."

Celeborn noted with a vicious sense of humor how the Half-elf prudently avoided his gaze. But Gil-galad nodded, drawing in a deep breath. "Then let us sound the horns and be on our way to give our thanks to the Númenóreans. I would not want to commit the cardinal sin of delaying a ship's sailing. Círdan would never allow me to hear the end of it."

Both Celeborn and Elrond smiled at such words as Gil-galad went to go into the mass of people who, for the most part, stood ready to mount their horses. But before Elrond could follow, Celeborn's hand came down upon his shoulder with an iron grip and the Sinda offered a kind and far too innocent smile to the High King. "Elrond will be there shortly to sound the horns, if you will allow, Your Majesty."

But Gil-galad only nodded again, a bemused smile on his lips as he watched Celeborn drag the poor herald to one of the few alcoves along the courtyard wall.

And Elrond looked to be shocked as he was all but pressed against the stonework wall against his back by a hand to his chest. And he looked upon Celeborn as a rabbit might look upon a fox. Even Elrond, in his ceremonial half-armor and donning of his intimidating heraldry, looked diminished before Celeborn erect in his dignified robes that made manifest the fact of his great heritage.

"Celeborn, what –"

"Quiet." As to not attract attention, his voice was low in pitch, but such did not lessen the imposing authority with that he spoke. As Gil-galad needed no crown to as king be beheld, so Celeborn needed no flamboyant behavior to illustrate his inherent lordship. Grave were the chiseled features of his face and his eyes bright with emotion disconcertingly unknown to Elrond. "Your eye has been on my daughter."

Elrond's eyes grew slightly wide. "Celeborn –"

"Quiet." If anything, he looked more as a startled rabbit and Celeborn suppressed an elated smile. "I have seen the love you hold for Celebrían. And –"

"Celeborn, I never –"

"Quiet," he commanded yet again. "Just stay quiet and hear me." Wisely, Elrond did as bidden and merely stood there, maintaining on Celeborn a look between alarm, discomfort and doubt. No matter how greatly he might revel in it, Celeborn plowed onward, pleased he still upheld a little height on the Half-elf. "I care not what you spoke or did not speak, I have seen it, and for mine eyes such is enough. I may have announced you to be of my House, watched you grow from a child, sat you upon the front of my horse, and go to you for a whole manner of counsel and aid….But when it comes to my daughter, think not any of such holds sway. If you would have Celebrían by your side on your walks, on your journeys, or to be merely within your sole presence, very well. But if you wish not for me to hunt you down as I would a wayward Orc, I have only four things you must do to obtain my blessing in being alone with her.

"One: If by your side my silver-queen stands and harm approaches her, you had better let not a heartbeat pass ere stepping in front her. Keep her safe. And protecting her means also doing so intimately. Give her no reason to fear you. Two: –"

Elrond went to speak, the beginnings of a scandalized look of outrage coming upon his fair face, but Celeborn held up a finger in warning.

"Two," Celeborn stressed, closing in the short distance that lay between them: "Bright and whole are the mind and spirit of my daughter – she is my treasure. Though young she may be, in mind and spirit she shall continue to grow, for in her youth her education remains ripe in being given." His voice lowered. "But even as she grows in knowledge and wisdom, by your presence none of it should ever diminish. A wise woman will build her world, but a fool will destroy it. You, Elrond, are older and wiser than my Celebrían, and I expect you to counsel her, and as you would for your king lead yourself in all forms of knowledge. I want Celebrían to be keener after any time with you, so let not any folly be on your tongue and be rid of any that might be in your heart ere you walk with my daughter.

"Three," he went on, and in this his eyes grew grave in the severity of what he would speak. "I guarantee any relationship to be destroyed by but two things: self-regard and bitterness. To these you must guard against. Inside my daughter is a round hole I look upon as her emotional need. Inside you is a square peg that will somehow have to 'fit' with her. To do so, what sacrifice are you willing to give, should such sacrifice be needed? To something you may laugh, but to it she may cry. Something you might say you held to be sweet, and it may make her livider than a hornet. Go to learn who my daughter is and look well within yourself to do right by her and no less.

"Four: You respect me – not as a lord, as a counselor, as a friend or as a warrior. You respect me as her father and Galadriel as her mother. And in such, never turn a deaf ear unto our counsel concerning our daughter.

"Understand?" he concluded. "It is all very simple. You do these four things and I will not have to kill you."

Elrond might as well have been immobilized by a snake, so greatly in alarm did he regard Celeborn in the ensuing silence. And verily, he looked to still have no notion on what to speak to such words. Though Elrond had long mastered the technique of keeping void his face of any thought, this day Celeborn could read him as an open book. Quite literally frozen, all too obviously shocked, Elrond could do naught but stare at him, eyes slightly wide in his substantial horror and disbelief from such fire. Celeborn returned such a stare, so unusual for Elrond's solemn eyes, with a calm and expectant one of his own. Celebrían and many others would by now have started fidgeting under such regard, but Elrond, Celeborn easily recalled, was made of some rather tough leather. Besides, he looked to be too incredulous at the moment to contemplate something as menial as fidgeting.

"Understand?" he asked again, friendly in tone as a Sinda could be. Still, Elrond spoke nothing. But after several heartbeats, he began to slowly nod, his aghast eyes not leaving those of Celeborn. And the Sinda judged the Half-elf would not hold decent conversation with him after this for some time. Life was good. So to spare the young one from any further embarrassment he undoubtedly was plagued by, Celeborn nodded his head in the general direction of the King's location. "Go sound the horns while you think it over."

And he offered a small smile as Elrond all too gladly turned away, seeming to move with a slow numbness to where Gil-galad stood ready to mount his horse, speaking, yet again, to more Men vying for conversation with the renowned Elvenking. Celeborn, in turn, began to make his gradual way back to where his daughter stood, keeping a curious eye upon Elrond amid the entirety of his walk, an amused smile quirking the corner of his mouth. Aye, Elrond in many ways was one of a kind, as well as one of the few Celeborn would without hesitation turn to in all things. Yet his daughter was his gem, in where all things were erased. And besides….What kind of father would he be if he did not make the suitor squirm at every opportunity he received? As a windfall it was free entertainment, after all.

O = O = O

Galadriel made her way towards Círdan, her bright eyes set upon him as she neared. Further away from the clusters of Men and Elves intermixed within the courtyard, the Lord Círdan stood conversing with only two others, with a few Elves and Men about them otherwise. One was a Sea-elf Galadriel recognized to be Ëarhín, a helmsman himself and first mate to Círdan. Eyes grey and face grave, he stood alongside his mount fully bedecked in a mariner's apparel, dark hair in a knot, and ready to be out at sea. The other, currently holding Círdan's attention as he spoke, was the Admiral Ciryatur, standing strong and tall as was the wont of the Númenóreans. That he wore differed little from the Elves in practicality. A broadsword, elegant in craft, was at his hip, his hair bound back and face still quite youthful, though aged with the efforts of hard campaigning.

Círdan, easily the tallest being present, stood next to a grey palfrey of his own, absently fondling the nose of the horse he would borrow for the occasion of this day to ride to the harbor. Though his eyes were tired, no sign of weariness was upon his aged face. He was clothed not in robes, but rather in attire wholly white that was still durable for roughage, and in a mantle of deep blue wrapped about his shoulders. Upon his brow was a circlet of silver, wrought as that of starfish strewn about the sea-floor, and bedecked upon its curves were soft hues of abalone shell. And under the rays of the rising Sun his long, silver hair gleamed white, the strands elaborately braided in the custom of his Sea-elven folk.

In short, all three looked ready to break harbor and eager to be back out on the waters.

But with little sound atop the snow, Galadriel approached the three in quiet discussion and stood a respectable distance away as she awaited their acknowledgement of her presence. But her presence, she knew, was not often to remain unnoticed for long. The three fell silent and, in uncanny unison, turned towards her. Ëarhín and the Admiral looked to her with a question in their eyes, the icy wind softly tousling their hair. Círdan was unreadable.

She bowed her head towards them, golden hair gleaming under the Sun, and clasped her hands before her. "Admiral Ciryatur," she greeted. "Lord Círdan and Captain Ëarhín. Might I have a quick word?"

Ëarhín looked to Círdan, Círdan remained resolutely inexpressive, and Ciryatur gave a quick nod. "Certainly, my lady. What need you?" Ciryatur offered no smile with the words, which were heavily accented by his Adûnaic. And his voice was deep and rough, undoubtedly so from having to shout over the roar of the seas he sailed. His countenance was fierce and fell, and his eyes bright and commanding. And Galadriel saw in him an authoritative Man worthy of respect and deference, for within a heartbeat she surmised why Minastir had sent this Man, of all Men available, to command the Fleet of Númenor he sent to their aid.

"Admiral Ciryatur," she began, her voice as serious as could be, "I know you must have heard it many a time by now, but I would like to give, at least, my personal gratitude in your coming to our aid. Such praise may seem little in light of that given unto you by King Gil-galad, but I give it nonetheless. By your assistance, my husband is alive. And for such, I will ever be beholden to you. So I thank you."

Ciryatur gave one solemn nod of his head, his face bearing little thought. He still offered no smile, though mayhap he was too greatly devoid of gaiety to give one at present. "Ever would the Men of Númenor seek to honor our alliance with the High King of Elves and Men of the East. I will speak of your gratitude to the King's Heir Minastir, of in whose name I merely walk. And as any Man under my command would speak, it has been an honor to serve for the betterment of the Free Peoples and to the detriment of the Dark One. Let it be such peace shall remain."

Galadriel nodded once more. "Unless you would otherwise, I would have a quiet word with Lord Círdan."

The Admiral nodded once more, taking a firmer grip on the reins of the beast that stood behind him. "Our talk has little worth. Besides, I must ready my own captains to depart and send riders on ahead." He turned an inquiring eye to the Lord of Shipwrights. "Lord Círdan, stand we together still at the harbor and helm?"

Círdan gave a single nod, placing a hand over his heart ere Ciryatur turned about and went on his way, urging his stubborn horse to follow in his wake. Galadriel turned back to the two Elves and sighed. "Captain Ëarhín, would you leave us?"

Ëarhín merely looked to Círdan again in silence and the Shipwright slowly nodded, his eyes communicating some unspoken message to his first mate. And so, with a quick nod, the elderly mariner left. Galadriel briefly watched him go, absently admiring how gracefully the Sea-elves managed to walk, talent undeniably gained by their required balance amid travels by ship.

But Galadriel drew in a deep breath, preparing herself for something she had little desire to do, and turned back to Círdan. "Círdan, I –" She stayed her words, dumbfounded.

Círdan was walking away. His steps were slow and measured as he guided his horse with soft words to follow. As with all Elves, he made no trace in the compact snow and the biting wind tore at his raiment and silver-white hair. And Galadriel stared after him in bewilderment, her brow furrowed, wondering if such a slight should be taken as an insult.

But then, now a good distance away, he stopped and turned to look back at her, an eyebrow raised in question. And it was then Galadriel understood what he did, for he was leading them away from ears that might hear. Suppressing her exasperation, she uplifted the folds of her gown as not to tread upon it and followed. And Círdan waited and watched as Galadriel approached passively, his visage nothing but a complete composure of calmness and serenity, with no ounce of any disgruntlement present, should any have been expected.

And Galadriel nodded her head towards him. "Lord Círdan," she greeted again.

Círdan returned the nod. "Lady Galadriel. How may I assist you?"

You already know, else you would have led us not away from the mass, she thought. But she kept her face impassive and gave a wan smile. "Celeborn spoke much to me yester night. And I just want to inform you I believe Gil-galad made a good choice in entrusting Narya to you."

Círdan looked upon her in silence, his face inscrutable and eyes unreadable. Finally, he went back to his efforts to make his horse comfortable amidst his presence, scratching him between the ears, and spoke in an even tone, "How reassuring it is to know I have gained your approval."

Galadriel regarded him shrewdly, working to detect any sarcasm in the words and failing. But, despite her dislike of the Sea-elven lord, she knew Círdan was not prone to being openly rude. "Are you?" she asked. "I mean my words and am wise enough to not coat them with deception."

"I insinuate not you are liar," he spoke, still unflustered and unreadable as ever. But then his gaze hardened. "However, think not I would believe you thought so upon first hearing Celeborn's words. Such is above you."

Galadriel hesitated ere nodding, knowing she had to concede such a fact. No matter what she might say to convince him otherwise, Círdan, like her, was too keen to be deceived. "I will deny not the truth of your words, for I was angered at you by what Celeborn told me. Furious, in all actuality, but amid the morn I placed much thought upon it. And as Celeborn told me –"

"Why?"

The question came unexpectedly. "Pardon me?" she asked.

Círdan regarded her quizzically. "Why were you angered with me?" he asked, a keen light in his eye. "You obviously thought the decision to be ill-chosen, so why be you angry with me? Or are you instead angry with the King?"

Galadriel narrowed her eyes at him, for she saw through the simplicity of the question, and stated calmly, "I would appreciate you not testing me with words."

"And a vessel may sink by how much care I harbor for what you do and do not appreciate," he retorted in the same tone of voice, though his grey eyes showed the first hints of anger long kept hidden and suppressed from last night. "Long ago would I have been dead should all my thoughts, words, and actions had been focused in the effort to meet the sole appreciation of Elves I have worked with. What want you, Galadriel? End your bandying words with me, for in them I see no sincerity. State plainly what you would speak with me."

Galadriel forced the rising ire in her chest to subside, reminded once again that, if the Sindar differed from the Noldor in anything, it was their wont in cutting corners. "You have as much love for me as I do for you. But as to me Celeborn expressed quite lividly, considering this new duty we mutually must undertake, it would be wise to have some premise in common ground."

"You and I have such in that we face a common foe," Círdan declared. "I would not make a nemesis of you, Galadriel, particularly now, but alas, I am but an Elf. And such effort can be not one-sided."

Galadriel let go a small sigh, meeting his unyielding eyes with her own. "For the sake of the Three, I am all too willing to work with you, for to do otherwise would be folly on both our parts. Narya is now with you and I believe the power dwelling therein shall be not flaunted by you, but wielded to the best of its ability."

Círdan was slowly shaking his head, a hint of sage disappointment gleaming in his eyes. "You truly look forward to wielding Nenya."

Galadriel gaze hardened, though her voice remained calm. "Middle-earth is off for the better at the existence of the Three. Healing to the lands will be finally granted and protection to at least some of Elven folk. Are you truly so cold in heart as to not want such for them?"

Círdan lifted an eyebrow. "I have wished for far more when you were but a mere thought in Eru's mind. Verily, believe you that you will benefit yourself from wielding Nenya? For you will find no joy in that Ring, Galadriel. And you fool only yourself by believing so." His gaze was hard and his words came uncompromising. "As Sauron was deceptive in his guise, so Nenya is in her mithril beauty."

Galadriel's eyes brightened considerably in their ire at such an insinuation. "You dare to declare I am so blind to deception?" she demanded. "I was deceived not by Sauron in Eregion, for he bore my scorn. Nenya contains no evil!"

Círdan was not cowed by such anger. Rather, amidst his own ire, he looked somewhat ill-amused by it. "She bears no evil," he stated calmly, though his tone remained far from gentle, "just as Narya does not, for if the Three contained even a sliver of Sauron's foulness, I would not bear Narya and would have fought with my own life to see them destroyed. But heed my words, daughter of Finarfin," he added with narrowing eyes, his voice now as cold as the northern ice in the height of winter. "Nenya will wring you dry of any joy and peace you now hold in Middle-earth. No precious jewel comes without a price. To others, as you bear her, she shall infuse hope and protection, and she shall shine as a light in the dark.

"But to you," he continued, his voice now so dark and chilling that he could be foretelling an irrevocable doom, "the Ring of Adamant will be as torment. And yes," he said in a tone of voice that dared her to challenge his words, "I do declare you blind to Nenya's deception, for in your lust for power you will not see it! She will bring you no joy! Your yearning to go home, to see your mother and father again, to see your family and all that you have long held dear in the depths of your heart since you were a child….That desire shall become so strong it will rent your heart again and again. With time, weariness will overcome you and you will be tired. And in time, where yet many things of Middle-earth have yet to come to pass that I have seen, even in the midst of celebration, you will find little reason to smile."

He then gave a deep nod, looking deep into her eyes without even a flicker of his own. "Bear her if you will, my lady," he spoke calmly. "I trust fully you possess the responsibility to not misuse her. And I possess neither the time nor patience to offer advice, should you even seek it. But take always in the wisdom of your husband, for with you I see the temptation to use Nenya will be strong, unbearable at times. And your resistance to use it will be little without Celeborn. But bear Nenya with wariness, for I do believe that you to be of sound mind to bear one of the Elven Rings. However," he spoke, his voice dark with warning, "do not relish you are a Ring-bearer and take no pride in it. Happiness nor peace nor joy nor contentment will be granted unto you so long as you wear her. And the longer you continue to believe such falsities of your fate being otherwise, you only deceive yourself. Those are my words. And though harsh they may sound, it is only out of concern for you that I speak them.

"But know this," he added, that hard and uncompromising light in his eyes once more. "When all this concerning Nenya comes to pass, you can keep this promise of mine to your memory: Until I receive word from my lord Ulmo, King of the Seas, _never_ will I build you a ship for you to sail to the Uttermost West, wherein you may be healed of all that Nenya will have by then dealt you."

Galadriel felt a righteous fury erupt within her at the realization that he would have the gall to speak so openly of her Exile from Aman. Between her and Celeborn, it remained unspoken, and with all others, it was simply not uttered. Never mind all else he had spoken, this alone was enough to enrage even the Elf who possessed the most self-control. "You dare to believe _you_ can deny me passage back to my homeland?" she nearly hissed in indignation. "You are a fool to think so! And woe befall any who would so submit to your kind mercies in such a case."

Círdan looked upon her solemnly, his eyes dimmed with a glimmer of sadness and weighed down by weariness. "Believe what you will, my lady, but I do have such authority. And now, I go to Mithlond and shall take counsel with you in matters of the Three. But in much else, your words have ever offered little wisdom for my people. Forget my words this day if you will, but –"

"Forget them?" she derided in bitter amusement. She was uncertain if she had ever been so insulted before in her life. "How could any forget such words when so boldly they declare how you look upon me as weak?" She shook her head, looking to Círdan in slight disbelief. "You, in all your patience, why can you give me not the benefit of the doubt?"

"Why can you give me not the benefit of logic?" he retorted. "Truly, is anything I spoke false in its integrity?"

"And you?" she asked, sarcasm lining her words with audible contempt. "With such high and mighty words, will you declare yourself immune to everything you have just declared doomed on me, Wielder of the one of the Three?"

Círdan fell silent, his eyes softening in their weary resignation, as he ran a soothing hand along the flanks of the palfrey. "Unto me Narya can do nothing Time already has not," he spoke softly, the quiet in his voice matching the subjugation in his eyes. "Alone on this day all joy from me is taken. What more to me could Narya ever do? Too many weaknesses have I, and with fervent hope do I pray Sauron never learns of them. But in such, I shall not grow weary of Narya, for the Three possess no strength of domination. Yet, in reality – and obviously – I abhor the Elven Rings far more than you, and will therefore tire of bearing Narya all the faster."

Galadriel silently observed him with a growing seed of frustration and perplexity. Inwardly, she shook her head, amazed that such an Elf of such longevity had such little understanding of the ways of power. "It was out of the goodness in the heart of Celebrimbor the Elven Rings were crafted. And –"

A derisive light entered the Shipwright's eye. "Not his craving for perfection?"

She released a distinctly controlled sigh. "And it was with the livelihood of the Elves in thought they were made. Your people will be off for the better with Narya, in alone for the healing the Ring of Ruby offers and in its blessing of how Time will diminish. Your fears that Narya would do unto you or any other any harm are unwarranted. Even spurious, I would say."

Círdan merely looked upon her, fey eyes and expression unreadable. "Why you or any other would regard change or the passing of Time as evil in effort to embalm the past, I will never understand," he murmured in something of saddened marvel. "And my fear is borne from experience. You know not my heart, lady, so act not as if you do."

And such was the crux of it. For in her ability to read and comprehend the depths of the heart of any she crossed Galadriel took great pride. But Círdan was one of the few she remained ever blind to, barred from peering into his mind and soul as to learn what therein dwelt. It was not inasmuch as turning his eyes from her, as was the wont of many people, but rather in that Círdan knew how to block her, knew how with little effort to ever keep her at bay, something for which she had little appreciation. Though, knowing what little of Círdan she did, she remained conscious that much malcontent of his carried for her was born of the many fruitless attempts to read him as she would any great Elf or Man. But, she remembered, as once told to her by Celeborn, Círdan was old, and thereby far more masterful of spirit and mind than the wont of any Elf. Such lack of success on her part ate at her, but she surmised such a time as now was not ideal to attempt it again.

"I am aware I know not your heart, just as you know not mine," she stated evenly, calm in demeanor. "Yet you cannot deny your outrage over the existence of the Three remains irrational. And verily so when you have countless times been told of their great worth in remaining."

Círdan gave no reaction to such a claim, but his voice was low and his words delivered with some unspoken warning. "I will speak not again any words I shared with the King. To him I have reassured and to you I have committed to working fully with all Ring-bearers in effort to see no peril comes of their existence, and that to them Sauron will remain blind. Such ought to be enough to sate your motives for coming to me this day." His eyes swiveled over her shoulder to something beyond her. She briefly followed his gaze and spied Celeborn standing a short distance away. Círdan's voice called her back. "Now, with your pardon, my lady, unless you have anything fruitful to speak, I have a fleet to command and a day of sailing the seas ahead of me."

As if on cue, the single, wholesome note of a finely-wrought Elven horn sounded across the courtyard and blared across the lands unto the harbor, setting the recently settled gulls to the air in a squawking melee once more. Men and Elves about the courtyard fell into even greater commotion as horses went to be mounted and farewells to comrades were bidden.

And Círdan bowed his head towards her, gathering in hand a firmer hold on his reins. "Until we meet again, I bid you farewell."

And he left. For all that had been spoken by the Lord of Shipwrights, a righteous wrath for him was alight still in Galadriel's eyes, even if it did simmer amid her venerable restraint, though from her the anger still positively radiated, despite her just controlled façade of utter composure. And Galadriel stood in silence, her posture erect and still as a statue, as she watched the Mariner make his way to where Ëarhín and several other Sea-elven captains were already mounted. And Círdan abstained from joining in their conversation as he mounted the palfrey, going instead to listen and watch while he waited.

Galadriel saw Celeborn approach her, a brown mount of his own following in his wake. And when he stepped into hearing, she briefly shut her eyes. "How much heard you?"

He gave a noncommittal shrug, his eyes solemn in their knowing light. "I heard little, but enough. And the ire I feel to boil within you tells me all I need to know."

She glanced at him then back to Círdan. "So great for me is his scorn he would direct such ill-tempered words towards me?"

Celeborn raised an eyebrow in cynical amusement. "So great for him is your scorn you would have such ill-regard towards him?"

A shaft of annoyance entered her at such a quip, but her husband held up an appeasing hand. "You knew this day would be no different from the rest, such as I warned you. Círdan is no passive Elf, despite his quiet nature. As you so greatly clarified yester night, he is my kinsman and possesses fire in his heart. Too greatly cares he for Middle-earth and those who dwell therein to lower himself to the triviality of telling falsities in effort to anger you. Be grateful you shall, at least, work together if nothing else is to be achieved."

She gave a grudging nod, but opted to remain silent since she knew seldom else could be spoken at the time, for the High King was calling to his company to ride. At such, Galadriel made her way back to the side of her daughter, bidding farewell by hand to those who would not return.

Celeborn, for his part, mounted his own horse and took his respective place in the admirable procession. Gil-galad rode at the fore with his herald and chief counselor on either side of him. And directly behind rode the Lord Círdan and the Admiral Ciryatur with the respective Men and Elves following in their wake, in accordance with rank. And with banners lifted high of Lindon, Mithlond and the Kingdom of Númenor, the many mounted Elves and Men filed out from the courtyard and commenced their short journey through the great Elven city to the harbors beyond, where the gulls squawked and ships creaked and mainsails fluttered.

And so another day would begin.

**The End**

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**A/N:** As anyone else can attest, I feel a great deal of relief and contentment at finally reaching the end of the story. And as I spoke in Chapter 1, I will remind again for any who are interested: Feel free to go check out the companion piece I wrote to this story, titled "A Crucial Decision". It's a long one, but in there can be found the reasons why Círdan then gave Narya to Gandalf, of all people, Gandalf's reaction to it, how Círdan reacted to bearing Narya after so long a time if he reacted at all, and much more besides. As I said, it's a long one, but it is fully and completely canon-based and was a joy to write. Otherwise, I do have more stories circling around in my head to write, but no fruit will be produced for quite a while. In the meanwhile, I would very much appreciate it if you would submit a review for this final chapter. It's like winning the lottery. Well, sort of. :) But please review and I hope you found some enjoyment out of this tale. I know, for me, it was worth the write. Happy trails.


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